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BILLY 


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BILLY 


PAUL METHVEN 

ji 

AUTHOR OF “influences** 


NEW YORK 

JOHN LANE COMPANY 
MCMXI 



rRINTKD BY 

WILLIAM CLO\VES AND SONS, UMITBD, 
LONDON AND BBCCLES. 

Gift 

JUN 2i 1911 


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All rights reservtd 


MY COUSIN MABEL 



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N 


BILLY 


CHAPTER I 

“ And I love you,” he stammered. 

“ That,” said Billy with decision, “ I do not believe.” 

Jerry Aynesworth rose from his chair awkwardly — 
he had been sitting on the edge of it. He was a sandy- 
haired, round-faced, young man with an anaemic 
moustache, and he wore spectacles. The girl watched 
him with an amused smile. 

“ I suppose I oughtn’t to have said that,” she 
said. “ I suppose I ought to have appeared deeply 
moved, and offered to be a sister to you.” 

“ I’m already provided with a sister.” 

“ I know, and she is exceedingly anxious that you 
should marry me. Really, your deference to her 
wishes reflects tremendous credit upon you — as a 
brother.” 

“ I say, you know, you needn’t chaff a fellow like 
that. You won’t have me, and you’ve said so, and I 
suppose that’s the end of it, and ” 

“ And we needn’t sit out the rest of this dance ? 
But why not ? I’m enjoying myself immensely in 
your company, and I shall think you’re awfully rude 
if you don’t say that you’re doing the same in mine.” 

“ Well, Miss Holroyd ” 


B 


2 BII/LY [chap. I 

“ Oh, call me Billy. Every one calls me Billy — 
that is to say, every one I like.” 

“ Then you do ” 

“ Of course I do. Otherwise I shouldn’t have 
come to this out of the way part of the house with 
you. I should think this old room must have seen 
some love-making in its time — real love-making, I 
mean.” 

” It has. That’s why I brought you here. We 
always propose in this room.” 

” We ? ” 

“ The family in general.” 

“ Really ! Is it also a family custom to invite the 
intended victim for a visit, give a dance, drag her up 
to a lonely turret and offer her the alternative of 
marriage or being cast over the battlements ? ” 

“You must admit that I haven’t suggested that 
alternative.” 

Billy laughed. 

“ No,” she said, “ I’m disappointed ; I don’t feel 
that I’ve had my money’s worth.” 

She rose to her feet with the lazy movement of a 
strong young animal, crossed to the window and 
looked out. The dried-up moat at the base of the 
tower would have provided an uncomfortable resting- 
place for any one who should be thrown from the 
turret window, and in days gone by had doubtless 
proved so. A glance at Billy and her companion was, 
however, enough to show that if it came to a question 
of throwing it would be Jerry who would find himself 
in the moat. Billy was very near being a physically 
perfect specimen of the sex which is conventionally 
labelled “ weak.” She was immensely strong for a 


CHAP. l] 


BILI,Y 


3 


girl, and tall into the bargain, and, though she dis- 
played that essential awkwardness which comes from 
length of limb, she was endowed with the natural 
grace which results from responsive and well-balanced 
muscles. She was big but not clumsy, straight but 
not angular, with the face of a pretty girl, and the 
figure of a handsome boy. Perhaps her chief charm 
consisted in her complete unconsciousness of it — an 
unusual trait, but a perfectly natural one in her case, 
for she experienced too great an enjoyment in living 
to bother herself about anything else. She dressed 
herself nicely, because clothes which fit the body and 
do not offend the eye are comfortable and garments 
otherwise constituted are not. She was cheerful be- 
cause she was healthy, amiable because she usually got 
what she wanted, probably a bit selfish, and apparently 
entirely sexless. 

Jerry was apparently a bit sexless too. If the 
glory of a man is his strength, it was clear that he 
would never find his salvation in that direction. Dimi- 
nutive in stature and feeble of body, one’s first impres- 
sion of him certainly was that Nature had made a mess 
of him as a man ; but, an examination of his plain little 
face out of which peered round, be-spectacled, blue 
eyes in an apparently perpetual state of astonishment, 
convincingly proved that She would have made a still 
greater mess of him as a woman. His qualities were 
chiefly negative — he didn’t bite, didn’t play games, 
didn’t gamble, didn’t flirt, didn’t do anything objec- 
tionable — or otherwise. He was going to be Dord 
Sutcliffe some day, had rather a nice tenor voice, and 
an ear for music. Those were his only affirmative 
attributes. 


4 


BILIyY 


[chap. I 


Presently Billy turned to him. 

“ So you always propose here, do you ? ” she said. 
" If it’s not a rude question, how many times have you 
done so already ? ” 

“ Oh, I — why, never before. This is my maiden 
effort.” 

“ I being the maiden.” 

“ Exactly. You can’t think what a fearful effort 
I had to make in order to screw my courage up to the 
point. I couldn’t eat any dinner, and I’ve been avoiding 
you ever since.” 

“ Well, aren’t you relieved now ? ” Her tone was 
cordial and friendly, the former chaff had died out 
of it. 

He turned to her gratefully. 

“ Do you know, in a sense I think I am. As a 
matter of fact, I ” 

“ Didn’t want to propose to me at all.” 

“ Not exactly that.” 

“ Well, didn’t want to propose to any one at all.” 

” That’s more like it. I say, what a wonderful girl 
you are to have guessed that ; you read me like a 
book.” 

“ No, but I think I understand. You see, I’m not 
like most girls ; they’re keen on marriage, I’m not. I 
prefer golf and tennis.” 

“ Don’t you want to marry ? ” 

“ Not a bit — at least, not like other people. I 
want to be perfectly free and independent, and able 
to do what I like. Of course, the worst of being a 
girl is that one can’t — I ought to have been born a 
boy.” 

“ You’d have made a splendid bo}'.” 


CHAP. I] BILLY 5 

" Well, I like golf, I’m never ill, if people swear 
I don’t blush, and if they smoke I don’t cough.” 

“ You don’t swear or smoke yourself ? ” 

“ No ; but I should if I wanted to.” 

“ Well, may I smoke ? ” 

“ Of course.” 

Jerry lit a cigarette and inhaled it thoughtfully. 

“ Blanche will be awfully annoyed when she hears 
you’ve chucked me,” he said ; “ she’ll be furious.” 

“ My dear man, it’s better to be made uncomfort- 
able for half an hour by your sister than for the rest 
of your existence by your wife. If I was a man I 
should never marry.” 

“ But I have to think of the family tree.” 

" Oh, I should let the family tree go hang. Marriage, 
in my opinion, is on a wrong basis altogether ; two 
people are tied together for the avowed purpose of 
devoting themselves to each other for the rest of their 
lives, whereas they would get along very comfortably 
indeed if they devoted themselves — to themselves.” 

“ In other words, minded their own business ? ” 

“ Quite. In fact, that is an ideal marriage — two 
people completely independent of each other’s control, 
living in the same house of course, seeing each other 
every day, being excellent pals, but never interfering 
with each other’s actions.” 

“ And what about family ties ? ” 

“ Oh, you must leave them out, of course. They 
spoil the whole thing. Family ties have a nasty habit 
of developing into family knots.” 

“ I like your idea awfully — about being pals and 
nothing more.” 

‘‘You see the advantage of my system is that 


6 BII.LY [CHAP. I 

there’s no disillusionment ; there can’t be, because 
there’s nothing to get disillusioned about. Marriage 
as it exists is founded on a fiction, and the fiction is 
that you’re going to sacrifice yourself for the benefit 
of the well-beloved. Just wait till the well-beloved 
gets on a bit in life and wants a set of false teeth and 
a toupet; then you begin to realize that burnt offerings 
are a smoky and over-rated form of amusement after 
all.” 

“ I can’t say that the mutual sacrifice theory has 
ever appealed to me very strongly, but it sounds 
awfully selfish to say so.” 

" Not a bit. It’s common-sense. Sacrifice means 
making yourself miserable. Mutual sacrifice means two 
people making themselves miserable in order that they 
may make each other happy. Isn’t it much better that 
they should make themselves happy in order that 
neither of them should be miserable ? ” 

“You ought to start a school for modern matri- 
monial education.” 

“ It’s a good idea, but I’m afraid that I shouldn’t 
get many pupils. You see, nearly every one I’ve met 
seems to want a marriage for love — only they don’t 
want to do the loving.” 

“ Most people regard marriage as a kind of conjuring 
trick.” 

“ Whereas it ought to be a mere business arrange- 
ment — a partnership with a distinctly limited liability.” 

“ You know, you’re a most surprismg person. I’ve 
never heard you talk like this before. I feel almost 
inclined to make a confession to you.” 

“ Please do.” 

Jerry began to pace the room with short, quick 


BIIyIvY 


7 


CHAP. l] 

strides. Billy resumed her seat and watched him. She 
liked the little man in spite of his eccentric appearance. 
She would have been puzzled to say why, for they had 
apparently no interests in common. He was the very 
antithesis of her, but perhaps that was the reason ; 
he was sufficiently neutral to make an excellent back- 
ground. 

He continued to march up and down the room — a 
curiously modern, decadent touch in that ancient 
chamber. He seemed to find a difficulty in beginning 
what he had to say. 

“Go on,” said Billy, and her fine teeth gleamed 
friendly encouragement. 

“ It sounds awfully rude, I know,” he began, “ but 
I really didn’t want you to accept me. I had to pro- 
pose to some one. My people are always worrying me 
to marry and — to tell you the truth — I felt it would 
be safer to propose to some one who I was sure 
wouldn’t have me, than to some one who possibly 
would.” 

“ Oh ! ” cried Billy ; “ how splendid ! I think that 
was awfully clever of you. Go on.” 

“ So I proposed, but I didn’t want you to accept me, 
any more than I want any one else to. The very idea 
of marriage appals me. I want to be let alone, allowed 
to go about my own business. I collect fossils, you 
know ; that’s my hobby, not matrimony.” 

“ I’ve got a maiden aunt — she’s about eighty — I’d 
better introduce you to her. She’d just about suit 
you.” 

“ Oh no, as a wife she’d be too old, and as a fossil 
she’d be much too young. However, as I was saying, 
I don’t want to marry at all. I don’t mind proposing 


8 BILLY [CHAP. I 

at intervals, to keep the family quiet ; that is to say, 
always providing it’s quite safe.” 

“ You seem to have had extraordinary confidence 
in me.” 

” Well, I had ; but I was a bit nervous, all the 
same.” 

“ I wish I’d said ‘ yes.’ It would have been lovelj’’ 
to see your face.” 

“ I’m very glad you didn’t, for then we shouldn’t 
have had this jolly talk.” 

“ It has been jolly, hasn’t it ? ” 

“ Rather ! I never knew we hit it off so well. 
It’s really rather quaint that I, who don’t want to 
marry any one, should propose to a girl who doesn’t 
want to marry any one either.” 

” It is a bit, especially as we shall both apparently 
have to marry somebody some day.” 

” Why both ? ” 

“ Well, you, on account of the family tree you 
referred to ; and I, because it means more freedom.” 

“ I thought you considered marriage slavery.” 

“ Oh, that depends on the man ; I shall find some- 
thing tame one of these days. Meanwhile, we had 
better go downstairs.” 

“ I suppose we had ; we’ve been up here a deuce 
of a time. Oh Lord ! do you know it’s half-past one ? 
We’ve been here over an hour ! What on earth will 
they think ? ” 

“ They’ll think we’re engaged.” 

“ You mean my sister ? ” 

“ And my people.” 

“ Do they know ? ” 

“ Don’t they ? I’m in just as big a mess as you 


BILIvY 


9 


CHAP. l] 

are. I shall have quite as bad a time as you will; 
worse, because you can slang your sister, and a girl 
can’t slang her people.” 

" What shall you say is the reason which kept you 
up here ? ” 

“ Why, that you were trying to throw me over the 
battlements because I wouldn’t marry you as per 
programme.” 

Baughing they left the Turret Chamber, as it was 
called. Billy went first down the steep, winding stair- 
case which led to the habitable regions below. There 
was only space for one of them to go at a time. She 
paused at the bottom and waited for her companion. 
Presently he appeared, strangely excited. 

“ I say, Billy.” 

“ What is it ? ” 

“ I’ve got a splendid idea ; I can’t imagine why 
I didn’t think of it before. We’ve both got the 
same views about marriage, we’ve both got to 
marry somebody some day, there’ll be an awful 
row if we don’t marry each other — let’s do it in 
self-defence.” 

Billy rippled with mirth. 

“ Marriage isn’t a crime — yet,” she said. 

“ But why not do it ? Marry, I mean, on a sound 
business basis and all that sort of thing ? We’ll draw 
it up like a state treaty, if you like — ‘ the high 
contracting parties hereby agree that they will 
never, never, never world without end mind each 
other’s business, but will strictly attend to their 
own.’ ” 

“ Do you mean it seriously ? ” 

“ Rather ! ” 


10 


BII.LY 


[chap. I 


“No control over each other’s actions ? ’’ 

“ Quite so,” 

“ What about — family ties ? ” 

" That’s answered by the answer to the previous 
question, as Cabinet Ministers say.” 

Billy remained silent for a moment with a look on 
her face of puzzled amusement. After all, why not ? 
She intended to marry some day, when, in her own 
words, she had found “ something tame.” Well, she 
had found it. Surely ? She glanced at her companion 
with heightened curiosity — yes, J erry was tame enough 
in all conscience. Moreover, she liked him. She could 
hardly expect to find any one else whom she liked and 
who also filled the bill in all other respects. The 
impulse to accept him suddenly rose strong m her. 
Wait and think it over ? Why wait ? Billy’s resolu- 
tions were always governed by the circulation of her 
blood, and were consequently rapid. She was a girl 
who never thought before she spoke and rarely after- 
wards. She experienced a momentary hesitation before 
the gravity of the step she was contemplating, just a 
flicker of doubt crossed her mind. These affairs were 
supposed to be governed by a thing called love ? 
Pooh ! She banished the thought with the charac- 
teristic impatience of her twenty-three years’ omnisci- 
ence. lyove was not for her. It was just the very 
thing she didn’t want. 

She turned with smiling face to J erry. 

“ Right O ! ” she said ; “ I’m game.” 

“ That’s great ! ” he replied. “ This is marriage on 
real Free Trade principles — we’ve always been Free 
Traders in my family.” 

“ Now let’s go and tell our people.” 


BILI.Y 


II 


CHAP. l] 


“ Certainly — but — oughtn’t we to sign, seal and 
deliver the bargain somehow ? ” 

“ How do you suggest doing it ? ” 

“ Well, what about a kiss ? ” 

“ Oh,” laughed Billy, “ hissing’s barred I ” 


CHAPTER II 


“ A marriage has been arranged and will shortly 
take place between the Honourable Gerald Tor- 
rington Aynesworth, only son of Lord Sutcliffe, 
and Miss Wilhelmina Holroyd, eldest daughter of 
Mr, and Mrs. Holroyd 0/210 Lancaster Gate.” 

Jim Stone laid down the paper and spilt his coffee. 
He had been going to propose to Billy himself. It has 
a somewhat annoying and startling effect to read in 
your morning paper that the lady to whom you have 
made up your mind to devote the rest of your life has 
made other arrangements in regard to her destiny. It 
will excuse your spilling the coffee. It will almost 
certainly spoil your breakfast. Jim took no further 
interest in his. 

He read the announcement over again. There was 
no occasion for him to do so, but it is the sort of silty 
thing one does under the circumstances. Then he got 
up from the table, upsetting a chair in the process, 
and leant against the mantelpiece. He filled and lit 
his pipe, quite mechanically. Then he swore — also 
mechanically. 

It was a very nasty knock for him ; for Jim was a 
simple, sincere, big-hearted young man, and he was 
deeply in love with Billy. He had known her all his 
life. They had pretty well grown up together, although 


12 


BILLY 


13 


CHAP. Il] 

he was some years older than she was. Their attitude 
towards each other had been that of brother and sister, 
with all the incidental disadvantages of that relation- 
ship left out. She stUl regarded him in that capacity, 
but he had come to consider her as something more. 
He loved her, every inch of her long, lithe, active form, 
every expression of her dear, bright, boyish face. And 
now — that was all over, his dream had ended, gone 
out. So had his pipe. He put it away. 

Jim was a square-shouldered young man of rather 
above middle height, though his sturdy build gave one 
the impression that he was shorter than he really was. 
He had a somewhat plain but eminently likeable face, 
and it required no physiognomist to read honesty and 
reliability in ever}'' line of it. It was always a faithful 
reflex of the emotions of its owner — Jim was no diplo- 
matist — and, as he put on his hat and left his chambers 
at Whitehall Court to walk down the Embankment 
towards the Temple, he presented to the world the 
countenance of a very depressed individual indeed. 
Jim was a barrister and the “ devil ” of a very success- 
ful one — to wit, Richard Branksome, a Common Law 
junior with a large practice. It may perhaps be 
necessary to explain that a “ devil ” in the Temple is 
a different order of being from him to whom the term 
is usually applied. The Temple “ devil ” is merely an 
inoffensive, industrious mortal who works early and 
late at another man’s papers without fee or reward, 
partly because he hopes that some day he may gather 
up the crumbs when his chief shall be transferred to 
some higher sphere of forensic activity, but chiefly 
because he has none of his own and would otherwise 
be left to twiddle his thumbs. 


14 


BILI.Y 


[chap. II 

Jim had been lucky, as Temple ideas of luck go. 
He hadn’t been left to twiddle his thumbs long. Within 
a year of his call to the Bar, he had entered Brank- 
some’s chambers as a tenant, and, having made himself 
particularly and unobtrusively useful in the numerous 
small ways that daily present themselves in a busy 
barrister’s chambers, he soon gained Branksome’s con- 
fidence, and became his right-hand man. He was 
popular with the clients, he could keep a case going 
whilst his chief was engaged in another court, he came 
to chambers early and left them late, was ready for 
any job that was going, from noting up a case to doing 
one, and was, in fact, thoroughly reliable. It is true 
that he made no money, or, at least, none to speak of, 
but many a good mine lies dormant for years before it 
declares a dividend ; and Jim’s energy and perseverance 
were so much capital invested in acquiring an experience 
of his profession, which to young barristers is always 
difficult, and in purchasing good-will, which to them is 
frequently impossible. 

It was a beautiful morning in early June. There 
was a soft breeze blowing off the sluggish river and the 
sun warmed the air which the smoke of Bondon had 
not yet had time to pollute. It was Jim’s daily custom 
to take this walk in the morning from his chambers in 
Whitehall to his chambers in the Temple, and ordinarily 
he enjoyed it. But to-day the world was wrong. The 
cheerfulness of nature, which can be as expressive in 
artificial Bondon as elsewhere, awoke no responsive 
echo in him. Taxi-cabs panted past, and the Bondon 
County Council trams jingled along unnoticed by him, 
and he was only dimly recalled from his abstraction to 
acknowledge the existence of a decadent hansom by 


BIIvI/Y 


CHAP. Il] 


15 


being nearly run over by it as he crossed over to the 
Temple Gates. 

His chambers were situated in Temple Court— a 
dingy locality under normal circumstances reminiscent 
of charwomen and dust, but to-day its dirty windows 
sparkled with sunlight, and the solitary soot-begrimed 
tree, which stood in the centre of it, alluringly rustled 
a petticoat of green leaves with the air of being old 
enough to know better. But Jim only saw the soot 
and the dirt. Yesterday, when he had left the Temple, 
he hadn’t seen it. Then everything had looked beau- 
tiful, everybody had appeared cheerful ; it was, in fact, 
a lovely, symmetrical world. To-day it was an ugly, 
oblate spheroidal planet. Yesterday he had heard good 
news ; news so good that it altered his whole environ- 
ment, opened his eyes to the future, gave him one 
indeed, for it put him in a position to propose to Billy. 
To-day ! 

This is what had happened. Branksome had been 
for some time behaving in a restless, eccentric kind of 
way, quite foreign to his usual habits. Jim had at 
last become quite anxious about him and suspicious as 
to whether his chief had recently committed a murder 
and had found the disposal of the body an inconvenient 
process, or was about to declare himself unable to meet 
his creditors. Then Branksome explained. He had 
been appointed a magistrate. Result, no more devilling 
for Jim, but an excellent opportunity for succeeding to 
a portion of the great one’s practice. Branksome must 
have been making at least three thousand a year. Now 
that he was leaving his practice, a good portion of it 
would in the ordinary course come to Jim, probably 
at least a third. A thousand a year ! What a difference 


i6 BIIrlyY [chap, ii 

it would make to the young man who had formerly 
found it difficult to turn over a couple of hundred ! As 
a bachelor he had dragged along comfortably enough. 
Three or four hundred a year of his own and a couple 
of hundred at the Bar had sufficed for his simple tastes. 
But now — or rather, yesterday — a new prospect ap- 
peared, a charming prospect, with Billy in the centre 
of it. It had only appeared, however, to vanish ; it 
had cheered him yesterday that it might mock him 
to-day ; and the very opportunities of independence 
it presented served but to accentuate his disappoint- 
ment. 

It was a very nasty dose of physic that Jim had 
taken, but by the end of the morning he had left off 
making faces about it. He didn’t do much work. But 
he wasn’t idle. He consumed nearly all his available 
stationery in writing letters of congratulation to Billy, 
which forthwith found their way into the wastepaper 
basket. Betters of congratulation under such circum- 
stances are somewhat difficult things to write, and Jim 
finally gave it up as a bad job. He resolved to call 
upon Billy the next day instead and express the senti- 
ments he was supposed to feel in person. 

Meanwhile, Billy was beginning to find herself a 
person of some importance in her family circle. She 
had returned home with her mother two or three days 
previously, and the Morning Post notice had appeared 
with all convenient dispatch. As her brother Sydney 
had remarked, it was desirable to obtain an official 
quotation as speedily as possible — Sydney went every 
morning to a broker’s office where he was supposed to 
be learning the art of finance. He professed to regard 
his sister, since her engagement, as a very promising 


BII.I.Y 


17 


CHAP. Il] 

security. Her father, as a matter of fact, did so — but 
he didn’t say so. Mr. Holroyd was a banker. Her 
mother purred about the house with soft eyes — a sure 
sign of satisfaction on her part. She carried the 
Morning Post paragraph about with her, and, it is 
believed, slept with it under her pillow. Billy’s younger 
sister, Winnie, aged nineteen and romantic, followed 
her about with wondering, admiring eyes, and posi- 
tively bubbled with excitement when Billy allowed her 
to open her letters at breakfast and gasp forth scattered 
portions of their congratulatory contents. 

Billy herself remained calm. 

She received hosts of congratulations, for she was 
universally popular and had plenty of friends, though 
no intimate ones. Intimate friends are those to whom 
we entrust secrets, and Billy never had secrets, neither 
was she capable of keeping one. She had a little bit 
of a secret now, for she was not disposed to favour the 
world with the real reasons for her engagement. Con- 
sequently the world drew its own conclusions and 
considered that Billy had done rather a clever thing 
for herself — and that didn’t tend to diminish her 
popularity. 

This reflection somewhat annoyed her. She felt 
that it was rather hard that she, who had never set 
her cap at any one, should be credited with having 
angled deeply and successfully for the heir to a desirable 
title. Of course people didn’t tell her so, but it was 
obvious from the look on their faces and the tone of 
their voices what was passing in their minds. Un- 
fortunately she couldn’t undeceive them. Moreover, 
it was a most reasonable misconception, for nobody 
who knew Billy could possibly imagine that she was 


BIIvIvY 


i8 


[CHAP. 11 


in love with Jerry, except perhaps her mother and 
Winnie, but relations hardly count. 

Billy’s characteristic candour inclined her to say to 
all these friends of hers — “ my good people, it’s quite 
true that I’m not going to marry him because I love 
him, but neither am I going to marry him because he 
happens to be the son of a peer. It’s merely a con- 
venient business arrangement between us which suits 
us both very well.” 

She realized, however, that it was a “ convenient 
business arrangement ” between herself and Jerry only, 
and that as regards the rest of the world she must 
acquiesce in the conventional assumption that her 
engagement was under the direct supervision of a 
gentleman of juvenile aspect and improper appearance, 
armed with a quiverful of arrows and an obviously 
defective bow. 

But Billy didn’t in the least regret the step she 
had taken. The more she reflected upon it the more 
excellent it seemed. It was really exactly the kind 
of marriage that she had always wanted. She liked 
her future husband quite well enough to take her meals 
with him in passable comfort ; she had rather a con- 
tempt for him, it is true, but she didn’t mind that, 
and he had rather an admiration for her, but she 
didn’t mind that either. Of course, it was trying to 
be obliged to listen to the romantic outpourings of 
Winnie, and her mother’s enthusiasm tended some- 
what to get upon her nerves ; still, it was excusable 
upon their part, and she only had to submit upon hers ; 
and that wasn’t so very difficult after all. 

It was not surprising that Billy’s engagement should 
create a stir amongst her friends. She possessed neither 


BIIvIvY 


19 


CHAP. II] 

the reputation for being sentimentally inclined nor 
socially ambitious, but she had fished a coronet out 
of the Social bran-tub with an apparent aptitude that 
bespoke long practice. And her friends regarded her 
as a monument of concealed cunning in consequence. 
They could hardly be expected to guess that she had 
merely taken Jerry because he had happened to come 
along. 

As a matter of fact, it was highly desirable that 
Jerry should marry. Sutcliffe Park would be his some 
day, and he would certainly never earn enough nor 
succeed to enough to keep it up properly, so that a 
wife comfortably supplied with the necessary funds 
was, from the point of view of Jerry’s relations, indis- 
pensable. Moreover, J erry was not brilliant in business 
matters, so that a modicum of capacity in his wife 
would be no disadvantage. 

The difficulty which had obstructed the schemes of 
his relations had been J erry himself. Many girls looked 
at him with an eye to matrimony, but he utterly declined 
to reciprocate. His sister, Blanche, took the matter in 
hand with her usual vigour, but her efforts in the 
direction of stimulating her brother with thoughts of 
marriage were about as successful as if she had en- 
deavoured similarly to endow a pudding. She spent 
her time in bringing eligible young ladies up to the 
mark, and he spent his in running away from them. 

Consequently, although Blanche had at first pos- 
sessed somewhat lofty ideas of what would constitute 
a suitable bride for her brother, she had gradually 
descended the gamut of social possibilities until a 
family with the position of the Holroyds stood com- 
paratively high in her scale. When she discovered. 


20 


BILLY 


[chap, ii 

moreover, that Billy apparently did not inspire Jerry 
with thoughts of instant flight, she concentrated her 
attention upon bringing Mrs. Holroyd to her own way 
of thinking, a task she found by no means difficult. 

Of course, it was all done very tactfully and, to her 
credit be it said, Mrs. Holroyd possessed quite sufficient 
nous to play second fiddle to the Honourable Blanche 
and keep in tune ; with the result that Billy’s engage- 
ment promoted a glow of mutual self-satisfaction in 
their breasts which might, perhaps, have been lessened 
had they been aware of exactly how it had been brought 
about. 

So everybody played their parts with admirable 
discretion — except Jim, who carried out his intention 
of calling upon Billy to congratulate her, by doing so 
with a face admirably adapted to a fimeral. 


CHAPTER III 


One of the disadvantages of being half of an engaged 
couple is that during the engagement you can never 
get away from the other half. This is the world’s 
fault, not yours — and very probably not his or, as the 
case may be, hers. The world possesses misconcep- 
tions on many things, perhaps on most, but it displays 
its wildest inaccuracy of thought in its notions of the 
relationship which should exist between engaged persons. 
It is firmly convinced that inasmuch as they are to be 
tied together, presumably for life, they ought never to 
be out of each other’s sight, or within other people’s, 
until that operation is performed. In furtherance of 
this idea the world asks the young people to its houses, 
invariably sends them into dinner on each other’s arms, 
inveigles them into rooms with “ cosy corners ” and 
leaves them alone together, and in fact does everything 
which lies within its power to make them heartily sick 
of each other. 

All of which means that Billy and Jerry saw a good 
deal of each other during the London season. The 
chief instruments by which this was effected were un- 
doubtedly Mrs. Holroyd and Blanche, especially 
Blanche. It has been incidentally mentioned that 
Blanche was of a managing disposition. As a matter 
of fact, she completely controlled her family, consisting 
of her father and Jerry. 


21 


22 


BILI.Y 


[chap, hi 


Lord Sutcliffe’s subjugation by his daughter was, 
perhaps, not so very unnatural, for he had formerly 
been completely subdued by his wife, and, when she 
died, Blanche had succeeded to the reins of government 
by the simple expedient of taking them. As for J erry — 
well, Blanche had always been five years older and ten 
years wiser than her brother, and had consistently 
bullied him into a meek acquiescence in that fact ever 
since their nursery days. 

Not that father and son had much to complain of. 
Blanche looked after them remarkably well in her own 
determined fashion. She was an excellent house- 
keeper, had apparently no intention of marrying and 
so disturbing the easy current of their lives or her own, 
and, in fact, was quite a nice person to live with, so 
long as she got her own way. She invariably did get 
her own way so far as they were concerned, and they 
would have been perfectly helpless without her. 

Blanche was a handsome woman of somewhat 
severe type, rather short-sighted, which necessitated 
her using a lorgnette, and with a passion for order in 
everything. It was this desire for the fitness of things 
which made it seem imperative to her that Jerry and 
Billy should pass as much as possible of their engage- 
ment in each other’s company. It appeared to her 
curiously arithmetical mind to be one of the rules of 
the game, and she would no more have broken it than 
she would have departed from her system of keeping 
the household books by double-entry. 

Accordingly she came up from Sutcliffe Park with 
her father, planted him in an hotel, and forthwith 
proceeded to dig J erry out of his bachelor quarters and 
drive him, metaphorically and literally, to dinner 


BIIylyY 


23 


CHAP. Ill] 

parties — he hated dinner parties — afternoon teas, 
Ranelagh, Henley, Rord’s and, in fact, all the places 
where people engaged in occupations which he neither 
enjoyed nor understood. 

And Mrs. Holroyd saw that Billy went too, Billy 
was quite content to go. She was always ready to be 
amused, and Ranelagh, Henley, and Lord’s were per- 
fectly in accordance with her tastes. But she found 
that she was not expected to devote her attention to 
polo, rowing, or cricket, but to take an intelhgent 
interest in J erry. How could any one take an intelligent 
interest in Jerry ? 

“ I’m not good at sheep’s eyes,” she said to him, 
when they had been ostentatiously left alone one Sunday 
at a week-end party on the river to which they had 
been invited ; “ let’s go out in a punt.” 

" I can’t punt,” yawned Jerry. 

“ No, but I can, and you can sleep. Then when 
we come back every one can imagine that we’ve been 
whispering love to each other amongst the bulrushes.” 

So Jerry slept throughout that fine Sunday after- 
noon whilst Billy shot him along the placid river with 
powerful thrusts of her fair young arms, and inci- 
dentally nearly shot him into it, with the assistance 
of an overhanging branch on the neighbouring bank, 
which she was skirting somewhat too finely. However, 
he only lost his hat. 

Billy was accustomed when in London to ride every 
morning in the Park. She was a good horsewoman, 
though, like many such, her style was too careless to 
be considered graceful. But she went to the Row for 
exercise not artistic effects. She liked riding, and she 
liked riding fast. Again, however, the hand of Blanche 


24 


BILLY 


[CHAP. HI 


intervened, for that masterful person dragged Jerry 
into the Park almost every morning, and Billy found 
that she was expected to talk to him. This was 
neither to her taste nor his. She hated lounging along 
by the rails when she wanted to be kicking the turf 
up in a smart canter. Moreover, a conversation con- 
ducted between a person seated upon a horse and 
another who isn’t must needs be of absorbing interest 
to be satisfactory to either. When the first wants to 
be doing something else and the second hasn’t got 
anything to say the result is depressing, to say the 
least of it. 

Billy was quite glad when August put in its appear- 
ance and she and her family departed for the seaside. 
The Holroyds went to the seaside every year ; to the 
same place, Beachaven ; to the same house. Sunny 
Bank ; and for the same time, the months of August 
and September. Billy proceeded to occupy herself with 
her usual amusements — golf in the morning, then a 
bathe, more golf after lunch, then sometimes another 
bathe (this last highly disapproved by Mrs. Holroyd), 
winding up with the band in the evening at the Dome, 
where she met all her friends and enjoyed herself 
immensely. The Holroyd family were quite as much 
a feature of the little south-country watering-place as 
the Dome itself — at least during the months of August 
and September — almost more so, perhaps, for they were 
there before the Dome was built. 

The Dome was originally intended to be a kind of 
palace by the sea. It was the Beachaven substitute 
for a pier. There was nothing vulgar about Beachaven, 
and piers are vulgar ; at least, Beachaven thought so. 
Moreover, piers are expensive things to build ; so also 


BILI/Y 


25 


CHAP. Ill] 

are palaces by the sea. Consequently the Dome never 
attained the artistic heights aimed at by its designers. 
It had to be finished off in rather a hurry, as funds ran 
low, and, in fact, it somewhat resembled an overgrown 
cowshed, only it was so leaky and draughty that no 
self-respecting cow with any regard for her constitution 
would have trusted herself inside it. Still, the original 
plans, brilliantly coloured and resplendently framed, 
were hung up inside the principal entrance, Beachavians 
always called it the principal entrance — there was but 
one — so that all who were sufficiently interested could 
see what the Dome might have been and, with a good 
deal of luck, some day may be. 

With all its shortcomings, however, the Dome 
possessed numerous attractions, at any rate, in the 
summer. One of these was its little terraced garden 
which faced the sea, and another was the excellent 
orchestra which performed in the diminutive band- 
stand planted in the centre. Here all and simdry 
resorted in the evening in search of music or conversa- 
tion, principally the latter. 

One of the great features of Beachaven is its row 
of bathing huts on the beach with their backs against 
the irregular slab of concrete which Beachavians term 
the “ Front.” Two principal characteristics distin- 
guish these huts from any to be found elsewhere. 
They are exceedingly comfortable and absolutely the 
ugliest constructions of their kind in existence. After- 
noon teas are partaken in them, and a series of informal 
calls paid by the various occupants, everybody being 
on the best possible terms with each other and en- 
cumbered by the fewest possible clothes. When the 
youth of Beachaven of both sexes is not engaged in 


26 


BII,LY 


[chap. Ill 


playing golf, it is either disporting itself in the sea or 
sprawling about on the beach drying itself in the 
sun. Consequently one can readily understand that 
Beachaven doesn’t want a pier. 

Beachaven just suited Billy. She had lots of 
friends there, and she liked to see them often. At 
Beachaven you can’t help seeing any one often who 
happens to be there. On this occasion, too, she was 
rather glad to get away from Bondon ; she had a sense 
of freedom now that the restraints of Blanche were 
removed and she was no longer compelled to be per- 
petually in Jerry’s society. The weather also con- 
tributed to her content by behaving itself admirably, 
and Billy golfed, and tennissed, and sailed, and swam, 
and generally enjoyed herself thoroughly. 

It was therefore with more surprise than pleasure 
that she received a letter from Blanche saying that she 
was bringing Jerry down to Beachaven. She found it 
awaiting her in the hall when she returned home from 
her morning swim. She burst into the morning room 
with the letter in her hand. Her mother looked up 
from her work — she was perpetually engaged upon 
something vague in the worsted line — “ And Blanche 
said ‘ let us go to Beachaven,’ so they went to Beachaven 
and the evening and the morning were the first day,” 
chanted Billy. Mrs. Holroyd looked puzzled. 

“ I don’t know what you mean, Billy,” she said, 
“ and you’re very irreverent and I believe your hair 
is wet.” 

Billy condescended to explain, somewhat ex- 
plosively. 

“ How sweet of Blanche to think of it ! ” murmured 
Mrs. Holroyd contentedly, “ now you and Jerry 


BII^IyY 


CHAP. Ill] 


27 


will be able to see each other all day long. That will 
be lovely for you, darling, won’t it ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Billy, “ I believe my hair is wet, 
I’ll go and dry it.” 

She went upstairs to tidy herself for lunch with the 
nearest approach to a feeling of irritation of which 
her sunny nature was capable. She worked it off very 
soon, however, as she vigorously brushed her hair, and 
the momentary wish that she had the opportunity of 
brushing Blanche’s for her also — perhaps a trifle more 
vigorously — made her laugh, and Billy was herself 
again. 

The next day Bord Sutcliffe, with Blanche and 
Jerry, arrived and were installed by Blanche in the 
Imperial Hotel, and the local paper duly chronicled 
the fact under the heading of “ fashionable intelligence,” 
a heading which had never appeared in its columns 
before — and has not done so since. 

About four o’clock in the afternoon, pursuant to 
instructions from Blanche, Jerry sallied forth in search 
of Sunny Bank and Billy. He found the former easily 
enough, but the latter was out. If he suffered any 
disappointment, he bore it wonderfully well. He was 
told that Mr. and Mrs. Holroyd were in the garden, 
so he joined them. Mrs. Holroyd was fast asleep in 
a deck-chair under the shade of a tree, and Mr. Holroyd 
was perspiringly practising drives with a captive golf 
ball on the lawn. 

“ Hullo, Jerry,” he cried cheerily, “glad to see you. 
I’ve put your father up for the club, do you play golf ? 
You ought to ” 

Smash ! 

The captive golf ball, yearning to be free from the 


28 


BILIyY 


[CHAP. Ill 

mis-directed hits of its tormentor, escaped from its 
string and disappeared into the greenhouse. Mrs. 
Holroyd woke up. 

“ Dear Dick,” she said placidly, " aren’t you tiring 
yourself in the sun ? How do you do, Jerry? Billy’s 
golfing, Winnie’s shrimping, and Sydney has gone down 
to the band.” 

They had tea in the garden, after which Mr. Holroyd 
took Jerry off to the links. 

“ We shall probably see Billy there,” he said, 
“ and, anyway, you ought to see the course, because 
you’ll have to take up golf now you’re here, there’s 
nothing else to do.” 

Mr. Holroyd’s golf was of the somewhat vigorous 
though totally ineffective kind, but, as the golf of his 
middle-aged opponent, who was waiting for him at 
the golf club, was of a precisely similar description, 
they had an excellent match and enjoyed themselves 
extremely. 

Although Jerry knew nothing whatever about the 
game and the misspent efforts of these exponents did 
not tend to enlighten him, some of the attraction of 
the thing entered insidiously into his brain. Five 
o’clock on a summer afternoon, with the green turf 
under one’s feet, the glorious blue of the sea before 
one’s eyes, and a soft refreshing breeze to caress one’s 
cheeks ; all these constitute elements for enjoyment 
to him who experiences them, be he golfer or not. 
Jerry was only conscious of the enjoyment and did not 
seek to analyze the reasons for it. He was also mildly 
surprised, for his first impressions of Beachaven had 
been distinctly disappointing. He had no idea that 
it could be so attractive. 


CHAP. Ill] 


BILLY 


29 


Strictly speaking, the Beachaven links did not 
provide very good golf. Half the holes were by the 
sea and half were inland, the turf was not of the true 
golfing character, hazards were few and far between, 
and such as existed were mostly artificial. Moreover, 
the course was a short one, there was practically no 
green which could not be reached in two strokes from 
the tee by a powerful hitter, and the principal difficulties 
which confronted the Beachaven golfer were exactly 
where they shouldn’t be, namely, on the greens them- 
selves, which were lumpy and fluky in character. 

In spite of these disadvantages, however, there was 
an attraction about Beachaven and its golf which 
brought the same people regularly to the little place 
year after year. It became, in fact, a common centre 
round which familiar faces gathered and, if better golf 
could be obtained elsewhere, better sportsmen could 
not, so that the Beachaven club flourished, and long 
may it do so. 

Billy was a fine golfer — a really fine golfer ; that 
is to say, she was about as good as a girl can be at the 
game who does not aspire to championship class. 
In terms of golf her handicap was “ scratch.” That 
conveys nothing to the uninitiated, but it means that 
she could drive as far as a good many men and a great 
deal straighter than most, that she was accurate with 
her iron clubs when “ approaching ” the green, and 
absolutely deadly with her “ putter ” in holing out 
when she got there. She had the right temperament 
for the game also, and this, together with her lissom 
figure, her height and her physical strength, served 
to render her an opponent whom it was very hard to 
beat. 


30 


BII.I.Y 


[chap. Ill 

On this particular afternoon she was out playing 
with Gladys Wilson and beating her badly. She saw 
Jerry strolling after her father and his turf -tearing 
companion, and waved to him. He came over to her 
and carried her clubs for her — caddies are scarce at 
Beachaven, and Billy hadn’t been able to get one. 

Then Jerry’s eyes were opened as to the beauties 
of golf. No longer was it a form of gentle exercise 
for elderly gentlemen in need of fresh air and violent 
conversation ; no longer was the turf over which they 
passed dug up into the semblance of a miniature 
earthquake i a flash in the air of the club, a little 
spurt after it of green turf neatly dislodged, and away 
in the distance rose the ball like an aspiring pill against 
the sky. And it was all so easy, apparently. 

Jerry felt that he would like to try his hand at it. 

“ All right,” said Billy, amiably, ” have a shot with 
my cleek,” and she put down a ball on an inviting 
piece of turf. 

Jerry swung at it with the careless confidence of 
inexperience. The club came through and finished of 
its own impetus over his left shoulder, and far away, 
rising in a graceful curve, Jerry saw a little speck of 
white. 

“ Did I hit that ? ” he gasped. 

“ Rather,” laughed Billy ; “ fine shot ! ” 

Jerry took off his glasses and wiped them. 

“ I think I shall like golf,” he said. 

Jerry forthwith joined the club and, on Billy’s 
advice, put himself under the instruction of the pro- 
fessional. No more shots like the one just described, 
however, rewarded his efforts, and at the end of his 
hour’s lesson he usually returned to the club house in 




31 


CHAP. Ill] 

a state of limp despondency. There he chanced to 
meet one day a fellow sufferer of about an equal order 
of merit with himself, and golf matches of exceeding 
fierceness and an interminable number of strokes forth- 
with took place between them. They unfortunately 
rarely arrived at a decisive issue, as both players usually 
lost all their balls before completing the round. This 
rather disheartened them until they hit upon a novel 
and exciting method of scoring, the principle of which 
was that they should each start out with an equal 
number of balls and he who lost all of them first lost 
the match as well. It was also provided that if neither 
of them lost them all, then the loser was he who lost 
the most, but this proviso was quite unnecessary, as it 
never happened. 

Jerry’s golfing enthusiasm was a welcome surprise 
to Billy. She had been afraid that she would be ex- 
pected to amuse him under the eagle eye of Blanche or, 
what was worse, that he would be expected to amuse her. 
As it was, they were each able to occupy themselves 
at opposite ends of the scale of golfing merit without 
boring each other. Blanche was quite satisfied if they 
were both on the links together, and it never entered 
her non-golfing mind that they might be a mile or so 
apart, which would in her opinion have been a most 
improper distance. 

Jerry’s golf was, however, doomed to have a check, 
for like all golfing neophytes he overdid it, with the 
result that Billy, on her return from bathing one day, 
found him sitting on the front, palpably cross and with 
nothing to do. 

“ Hullo, Jerry,” she cried, “ why not golfing ? ” 

“ Because I’ve ricked myself in at least three 


33 BIIvIvY [chap. Ill 

different parts of my body, and I can’t swing a 
club.” 

“ Oh, that’s nothing ; you must chuck it up for a 
day or two, and then you’ll be all right.” 

“ And what am I to do instead ? ” 

“ Well, it is rather a one-horse show,” she agreed 
cordially, ” if you don’t golf. I suppose you can 
walk ? ” 

” Oh yes, but where to ? ” 

“ I have it,” she said with sudden inspiration, 
“ go and collect shells.” 

“ Shells ! ” he echoed scornfully, “ I suppose you 
mean fossils. There aren’t any here.” 

“ Oh yes there are, lots, in Norman’s Cave, just 
underneath the cliff. It’s all chalk, you know, just 
the very place for a geologist.” 

” A lot you know about it,” he laughed. 

The next morning Billy turned up at the hotel 
armed with a coal hammer, a garden trowel and a 
basket. 

" I’m going geologizing,” she said. 

“ Oh,” remarked Jerry, looking up from his break- 
fast with polite interest. 

“ Yes, and you’re coming too, so hurry up with 
that egg.” 

“ My dear girl, I assure you it’s not the least bit 
of use.” 

“ I tell you it’s a splendid place and, anyhow, it 
will give you an appetite for lunch. Besides, I haven’t 
fagged these things all the way up here for nothing, 
so you’ve got to come.” 

That settled the matter and they set out. 

“Is it far?” panted Jerry as he followed 


BILI.Y 


CHAP. Ill] 


33 


after Billy, who took the lead with long, swinging 
strides. 

“ Oh no, ’bout another mile.” 

“ Oh lor ! we’ve been about two already.” 

“ That’s nothing, we’ve got to go over rocks and 
things presently.” 

They finally reached Norman’s Cave, Billy flushed 
with healthy exercise and Jerry as limp as the seaweed 
which hung from the cliff side. He sat down and 
mopped his brow, 

“ I wish we could take a ’bus back,” he grumbled. 

Billy laughed. 

“ You are a fine geologist ! ” she cried ; “ now let’s 
get to work.” 

She began digging into the chalky floor with her 
trowel. Presently she turned to him triumphantly. 

“ There ! What did I tell you ? ” she said, “ here’s 
a beautiful fossil and here’s another — why, there’s 
quite a lot.” 

She dug furiously. 

Jerry began to be interested and to forget his 
fatigue, 

“ Let me see,” he said, 

Billy handed him a round chalky object. He took 
it in his hand and then dropped it disgustedly. 

“ That’s an Echinocorys,” he said pompously ; " in 
other words, a sea urchin. It’s no good digging for 
them; they’re as common as dirt and no use to any 
one,” 

Billy looked genuinely disappointed, 

“ Oh, Jerry,” she said, “ I don’t see how an echino — 
something could possibly be common.” She produced 
a piece of candle from the basket. Jerry watched her 


34 


BIIylyY 


[CHAP. HI 


sulkily. Billy felt inclined to shake him, for she had 
planned this expedition entirely on his account 
and she thought that he might have been a little 
grateful. She put down his churlishness, however, 
to his ricked back and amiably excused it. She handed 
him the candle. 

“ Buck up, old chap,” she said; " there’s another 
cave leading out of this ; you might find all sorts of 
things — you never know your luck.” 

Jerry rose reluctantly. 

“ It’s pure waste of time,” he said ; “ no, I don’t 
want the trowel nor the hammer, my penknife will do 
for anything I find.” 

He stumbled off into the interior of the cave, which 
forked at the end into two smaller ones. He turned 
at the entrance of one of them. Billy was making the 
walls of the cavern ring with mighty swings of the 
coal hammer. 

“ This is not a coal mine,” he remarked. 

“ It’s excellent practice for golf anyway,” she 
laughed. 

Jerry proceeded to explore. He had to walk in a 
stooping position to prevent knocking his head against 
the roof of the cave, and the candle smoked and the 
smoke got in his eyes and made him cough. He put 
the candle on a ledge and made a more or less system- 
atic investigation of his surroundings, probing into 
the chalk with his penknife and occasionally using his 
pocket lens. There were undoubtedly fossil remains 
in the cave, none of them particularly good, and all of 
them of the most ordinary kind commonly met with in 
such formations. He picked up a Ter ebr alula or two, 
and an Inoceramus in a more than usually perfect 


CHAP, hi] 


BILLY 


35 


state of preservation was promptly transferred to his 
pocket, but his time was chiefly occupied in picking 
up and relighting the candle, which was perpetually 
falling down, no matter where he put it. After about 
twenty minutes of this sort of thing he felt that he 
had had about enough of it and, hot and chalky, he 
returned to the more lofty chamber where he had left 
Billy. 

He found her busy and excited, dislodging chunks 
of chalk with her improvised pick and throwing them 
into the basket. 

She stopped when she saw him, radiant. 

“ I’ve found heaps and heaps of fossils,” she 
cried. 

“ Where are they ? ” he queried. 

“ In the basket.” 

Jerry examined the contents with a casual glance 
of his eye, then he took up one of the pieces of chalk and 
looked at it more closely with his glass ; then he fell 
on his knees beside the basket and rummaged in it 
with excited fingers. 

“ Isn’t it splendid ? ” cried Billy. “ What did I 
tell you ? I think geology’s rather fun ; almost as good 
as fishing. Why, what’s the matter ? ” 

“ Only that you’ve completely spoilt what is — was, 
I should say — the best specimen of a fossil fish that’s 
been found on this coast for years.” 

Jerry spoke in a voice which trembled with dis- 
appointment and temper. 

“ A fossil fish ! ” exclaimed Billy ; “ what fun ! ” 

She picked up her hammer and renewed her attack 
upon the wall of the cave. 

“ Let’s find some more,” she continued, “ there’s 


BILI/Y 


36 


[chap. Ill 


more than one fish in the sea, so there ought to be more 
than one fossil fish in the rock.” 

“ You needn’t trouble,” he replied bitterly ; ” fossil 
fish aren’t as numerous as birds’ eggs.” 

“ Well, how was I to know ? ” said Billy ; “ you 
never told me. I should have thought you might have 
guessed there were fossil fish in here. However, let’s 
go back to lunch.” 

They stumbled homewards over the rocks, Jerry 
silent because he was out of breath and out of temper, 
and Billy equally so because she was slightly out of 
temper as well. She didn’t care a button for “ shells,” 
as she called all geological remains, but she had made 
an effort to interest herself in Jerry’s hobby, had 
refused to allow her ardour to be damped by his 
surliness, and had considered her strenuous demolition 
of the fossil fish a complete vindication of the success 
of the trip she had planned. It was rather discon- 
certing to find that she had merely made a fool of 
herself. She resolved to confine her attention in future 
to matters she understood. 

Amongst those matters she included Jerry — which 
was rather a mistake on her part. 


CHAPTER IV 


At 210 Lancaster Gate bustle and confusion reigned 
supreme, for Billy was to be married on the morrow, 
and, as everybody knows, an event of that kind conveys 
the impression upon the eve of its occurrence that no 
one had ever thought of it before, instead of its having 
been anxiously anticipated for weeks. 

Billy was the only person who had not been deflected 
from the normal ; every one else in the house was 
suffering from badly suppressed excitement. The 
state of their nerves showed itself in a tendency to 
shout, to drop things and break them, to lay down 
other things and lose them, to be generally late for 
meals, and to possess no appetite for them when they 
arrived. 

Billy moved amongst her relations serene and calm. 
She was sorry that they couldn’t eat their meals, but, 
after all, that was their affair and her appetite was 
excellent. She didn’t particularly care about being 
alternately fondled and scolded by her mother, con- 
tinually fussed over by her sister, and periodically 
philosophized to by her father, but it seemed to be a 
part of the game, so she submitted to it with the same 
amiability with which she underwent the ordeal of 
perpetually trying on things and having pins stuck 
into her. 

“ My marriage seems to be the most important 
37 


38 


BII.LY 


[chap. IV 


event in the lives of everybody except me,” she 
remarked to Blanche, who on this particular morning 
had looked in at Lancaster Gate with a view to intro- 
ducing order into chaos, but had merely added to it. 

“ You’d better go out for a walk,” said Blanche, 
“ and leave your relations completely at liberty to get 
in each other’s way.” 

She spoke grumpily, for she was not in a very good 
temper that morning. Blanche liked things to be done 
decently and in order, and from the state of nerves of 
those about her there seemed very little probability 
of their ever being done at all. Moreover, Billy had 
rushed things. Blanche would have liked the marriage 
to have taken place in the respectable month of May, 
but Billy had said that she wanted “ to get it over,” 
and had insisted upon being married in November. 
She suggested the Fifth, but even J erry kicked at that, 
although Billy carefully explained to him that it is the 
bride who is the guy upon these occasions. He had 
replied, with an unusual show of spirit for him, that 
he had no desire to marry a guy. 

Billy ran upstairs to put on her hat. She found 
her mother and Winnie having a heated altercation 
with a young woman from the dressmaker’s. 

“ It’s too bad,” wailed Mrs. Holroyd. ” Mrs. 
Smithson told me that we should have the dress 
here this morning without fail, and now I don’t suppose 
we shall get it at all.” 

“ I assure you, madam, it shall arrive this afternoon 
by three o’clock. There is just that trifling alteration 
to the train which ” 

” And it will be all wrong when it comes, and 
then ” She caught sight of Billy, who had seized 


CHAP. IV] 




39 


her hat and was making for the door. “ Billy, your 
wedding-dress hasn’t come, and I don’t believe it ever 
will, and ” 

“ Then, darling, I’ll borrow one of your tablecloths 
and get married in that; it’ll do just as well.” 

She kissed her mother affectionately. 

“ Dear, don’t worry about such trifles,” she said. 
“ Three o’clock will do admirably,” she added to the 
dressmaker’s assistant, and ran downstairs and out 
of the house, glad to be rid of cardboard boxes, tissue 
paper and tears, which seemed to have got hopelessly 
commingled of late. 

She entered the Park and strode through it in the 
direction of Kensington with characteristic energy. 
It was a typical November morning, murky and muddy, 
and the Park was apparently deserted of all other 
occupants save untenanted chairs, despondent trees 
and pertinacious sparrows. It was not exactly the 
kind of day which the average Dondoner would have 
selected for walking exercise, and the Park, with its 
wet grass, decaying leaves and damp fog, was certainly 
not the place. It would have depressed most people, 
but it seemed to exhilarate Billy, for she broke into 
a cheerful whistle. She paused for a few moments by 
the Round Pond. It was a melancholy looking sheet 
of water, with a diminutive craft labouring in the centre 
whilst its owner, with a broken string in his hand, 
gazed disconsolately from the bank, and St. Mary 
Abbot’s, veiled in fog, peered in the distance. 

To the artist or the poet there would have seemed 
something allegorical about the little boy waiting on 
the shore for his boat to return to him. It would 
never do so, because he hadn’t known how to set the 


40 


BILLY 


[chap. IV 


sails, and it would drift about haphazard in the fog 
until he got tired of waiting and went home. But 
Billy had no artistic or poetic tendencies. She had a 
fair share of good nature, however — and half a crown. 
She parted with the latter. It was a very effective 
method of dealing with the situation, for the vessel 
in question would have been dear at eighteenpence. 

Then she went home and ate an excellent lunch in 
spite of the gloomy prophecies of her mother as to the 
probability — or rather improbability — of the bridal 
dress arriving in time. As a matter of fact, it appeared 
punctually on the stroke of three, as promised, and 
Billy was rushed upstairs to put it on. Her mother 
wept copiously at the prospect of the dress not fitting 
and Billy looking frightful, and still more copiously 
when it was discovered that it fitted perfectly and that 
Billy looked lovely. It was, in fact, a thoroughly 
melancholy proceeding, and, as Billy said, “ quite a 
question whether it was not more damp inside the 
house than out.” 

It was certainly thoroughly damp outside, for a 
steady drizzle had set in, which was worse than if it 
had actually poured, for the latter would have cleared 
the fog away, Blanche looked in again at tea-time, 

“I’ve brought the tickets,” she said to Billy, “ and 
here they are. You break the journey at Folkestone 
and Paris, and then straight through to Marseilles, 
where you go aboard for Alexandria, then on to Cairo.” 

Billy pocketed the tickets quietly — Billy had a 
pocket, she insisted on it. 

“ Why give them to me ? ” she asked. 

“Because Jerry would be sure to lose them; he 
always does.” 


BII.LY 


41 


CHAP. IV] 

“ I wonder if I’m to be his nurse, or his mother,” 
she murmured, as she proceeded to pour out tea, but 
nobody heard her remark, which was perhaps as well. 

Dinner was not a particularly lively meal. The 
fog had thickened and penetrated to all parts of the 
house. The dining-room was full of it, and the soup 
tasted of it ; “ bouillon d la brouillard,” Mr. Holroyd 
christened it in a moment of expansive humour, but, 
his accent being deplorable, he had to explain his 
meaning, which made his somewhat feeble joke fall 
rather flat. 

Sydney was in an aggressive mood. He nearly sent 
his mother into hysterics by prognosticating an awful 
fog for the next day. He drew a pathetic picture of 
the bridegroom waiting in a fog-bound church whilst 
the bride was driven to some different edifice altogether 
and married to the wrong man by mistake. 

“ What would you do then, Billy ? ” he asked. 

“ Well, that would depend upon what the wrong 
man was like,” she replied contentedly ; “ he might do 
just as well.” 

Mr. Holroyd filled his glass with port and cleared 
his throat. 

“ Billy,” he said, “ I drink to your future happiness. 

May all your married days be as bright as ” He 

paused for a fitting simile, and the fog seized its oppor- 
tunity to choke him into a fit of coughing. 

“ As this one,” concluded Sydney for him ; " bravo, 
dad ! very eloquent, very eloquent indeed.” 

“ You shouldn’t joke, dear, about serious matters,” 
remonstrated his mother. 

They went upstairs to the drawing-room. Mrs. 
Holroyd settled down to Patience, Winnie to a romantic 


BILIyY 


42 


[chap. IV 


novel, Mr. Holroyd to sleep, and Sydney to teasing 
Billy on the subject of the marriage service. 

“ I hope you know your part,” he said, “ because, 
if you don’t, you’d better learn it and rehearse it with 


“ Don’t be a silly ass,” she laughed, “ I’ve only got 
to say ‘ I will ’ at intervals ; it’s only a ‘ walking 
part.’ ” 

She retired to her room early that night and was 
followed upstairs by her mother, who fussed round her 
with maternal tenderness to such an extent that Billy 
felt a most horrible fraud. She was immensely relieved 
when her mother finally left her, and she promptly 
locked her door. Were one’s relations always as trying 
as this on these occasions ? she wondered. She 
partly undressed and arranged herself comfortably in 
her armchair before the fire. She didn’t want to be 
disturbed again ; that was why she had locked her 
door ; for it was quite on the cards that Winnie would 
seek to put in an appearance. For the last few nights 
she had done so, and she had sat and gazed at her 
shortly-to-be-married sister with a kind of romantic 
awe which Billy had found quite embarrassing. 
Perhaps when Winnie found the door locked she would 
go away, perhaps she wouldn’t ; in that case she might 
stay outside ; cold feet are an excellent antidote for 
romance. 

She didn’t want Winnie that night. She didn’t 
want any one. She wished to be alone. For, even to 
practical-minded Billy, to-night was an exceptional 
occasion. To-night she would say good-bye to her old 
self, and to-morrow she was going to be some one new. 
To-morrow was going to be Emancipation Day. Billy 




43 


CHAP. IV] 

chuckled ; she hadn’t been exactly a slave up till now. 
She had usually managed to get her own way, although, 
of course, she had been obliged to give in to a certain 
extent to her father and mother, and even her brother’s 
opinions were not always to be disregarded. But to- 
morrow there would be no one to control her actions, 
no one whose opinions mattered at all ; except, of 
course, in the eyes of the world, — her husband. Billy 
chuckled again ; if the world only knew ! 

She kicked off her shoes and toasted her feet at the 
bars of the grate. Yes, it was good to be free ; and 
it was very difficult for women to be free. Until they 
were married they were at the beck and call of their 
relations, and after they were married they were at 
the beck and call of their husbands — or their children ; 
whilst if they never married at all, they became absorbed 
in the decayed sisterhood of spinsters who wore mob 
caps and were the humble slaves of inflated pug dogs 
and attenuated dachshunds. But she had escaped all 
that. She was going to have all the advantages of 
married life and none of the drawbacks. There were 
considerable advantages — an enlarged circle of ac- 
quaintances, an improved social status, and the ability 
to do what she liked. It would make a man of her, 
she reflected, which was a great deal more than any 
one would ever be able to make of her husband. 

She stretched out a lazy hand for her prayer-book, 
which was lying on the mantelpiece ; perhaps, as 
Sydney had said, she ought to learn her part. She 
glanced idly at the service ; yes, her part was a very 
easy one ; she only had to say “ I will,” and repeat 
something or other after the clergyman. She began to 
read the service through. It wasn’t easy to do so. 


44 


BILLY 


[chap. IV 

because the type was so small and the light over her 
dressing-table was some distance from the fire. She 
had never read it before, probably because of the 
minute print. The analogy occurred to her mmd of 
the by-laws on the backs of railway tickets which every 
passenger is assumed to have read, but which are 
printed so small that nobody is able to do so. vShe 
became quite interested in her task and poked up the 
fire so as to get a better light. 

She was too absorbed to notice for some time that 
some one was knocking at the door. It was Winnie, 
of course. When Billy at length heard her, she rose 
from her seat, but changed her mind and sat down 
again. Perhaps if she let Winnie go on knocking, she 
would get tired of the exercise and go away. Winnie, 
however, had no intention of going away. 

“ It’s no use your pretending, Billy,” she called 
through the key-hole, ” because I can see the light 
under your door and I know you aren’t asleep.” 

Billy resigned herself to the inevitable. She got 
up and stretched herself, and went and opened the 
door. 

“ All right. Kid,” she said good naturedly, “ come 
in.” 

Winnie promptly availed herself of the invitation. 
She only had a light wrapper thrown over her night- 
dress, and her feet were bare. She ran to the fire and 
warmed herself. 

“You are a chucklehead to go running about 
the house like that,” said Billy, as she proceeded 
to complete undressing, “ especially on a night like 
this.” 

Winnie squatted down on the hearth rug. 


CHAP. IV] 


BILLY 


45 


“ Oh, it’s lovely,” she cooed, “ when you’re getting 
warm again. You were a beast not to let me in 
before.” 

” I was half asleep and I didn’t hear you,” said 
Billy, energetically brushing her hair. 

“ Oh, what a cram ! ” cried Winnie ; " I heard you 
moving about. Why, you’ve been reading the marriage 
service !” she exclaimed. “How lovely!” She seized 
the prayer-book and began quoting. 

“ ' With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee 
worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.’ 
Oh, Billy, it’s heavenly ! ” 

“ It sounds to me distinctly earthly; anyhow, the 
last part.” 

“ I wonder what it feels like ! ” sighed Winnie, 
ecstatically. 

“ What feels like ? ” 

“ Being in love.” 

“ Don’t be an ass. Kid.” 

“ Oh, but do tell me, I want to know — I believe I 
do know, though,” she added. 

Billy glanced at her amused. 

“ What does it feel like, then ? ” she asked. “You 
tell me.” 

Winnie drew up her knees, and nestled her chin 
upon them. 

“ Well,” she said, “ I’m sure it feels like this. 
When you love a person awfully, awfully enough to 
want to marry him, then you want to be always near 
him, to be able to see him, to hear him talk, to antici- 
pate his wishes, to suffer pain for him if need be, for 
that will only make it greater pleasure. That I think 
is being in love.” 


46 BILLY [CHAP. IV 

“ Oh, do you ? And what about him ? What’s he 
doing all this time ? ” 

" Oh, I — I never thought about him. I suppose 
he’s doing the same.” 

She came over to Billy, who was sitting before her 
glass, and leant over the back of her chair whilst she 
ran her sister’s soft hair through her fingers. 

"For better for worse, for richer for poorer, 
in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, 
till death us do part,” 

she quoted. 

Billy turned to her surprised. 

” Why, Winnie,” she said, “ you know it all by 
heart.” 

“ Of course I do. You’re not the only person who 
knows the marriage service, I can tell you.” 

” I don’t know it.” 

“You don’t know it ? ” 

“ I never looked at it before to-night.” 

“ Oh, Billy, how awful ! ” 

Billy got out of her chair impatiently, and walked 
to the fire. 

“ My dear Kid,” she said; “ why ? ” 

“ Because, Billy, it’s so — holy.” 

“ It’s nothing of the sort — at least, to me.” 

Winnie sat down limply on the edge of the bed, 
with a look of horrified astonishment on her face. Billy 
began to feel irritated. 

“ For goodness’ sake don’t look like that ! ” she said 
crossly. 

“ I don’t understand you a bit,” said Winnie in a 
tremulous voice, and then she suddenly burst out 


BILLY 


CHAP. IV] 


47 


sobbing. As her elder sister had often remarked, 
Winnie was inclined to be moist. 

Billy wished she hadn’t spoken quite so frankly ; 
however, having gone so far, she felt that she had 
better go on. She sat down beside her sister. 

“ Now, Winnie, don’t be silly,” she said ; “ can you 
keep a secret ? ” 

“ Of c — c — course I c — can,” sobbed Winnie, whose 
emotion became speedily overpowered by curiosity. 

“ Well then, I don’t love Jerry a bit, and he doesn’t 
love me. We’re marrying because it happens to suit 
us, and our marriage is really only a matter of form.” 

Billy was afraid that her latest piece of news was 
going to set her sister off again, but Winnie remained 
quite quiet for at least a minute. Then she suddenly 
nearly startled Billy out of her life, for she threw her 
arms round her neck and sobbed — 

“ You mustn’t marry him, Billy; you mustn’t, it’s 
wicked ! ” 


CHAPTER V 


Jerry opened his eyes and sleepily regarded his man, 
who had just entered the room with his early morning 
tea. He sipped it lazily whilst the other proceeded to 
arrange his master’s clothes. Thompson was usually 
a silent man, but this morning he seemed to be imbued 
with the desire for conversation. 

“ It’s a lovely day, sir,” he remarked, as he unsuc- 
cessfully endeavoured to remove a non-existent speck 
of dust from a brand-new pair of trousers. 

“ Is it ? ” queried the man in the bed uninterestedly. 

“Yes, sir, wonderful for the time of year, seeing as 
we’re now half-way through November. Very fortu- 
nate, sir, isn’t it ? ” 

“ What’s fortunate ? ” growled Jerry, who was half 
asleep again. 

Thompson drew himself up to his full height — he 
was a tall man — and regarded his employer with 
reproachful dignity. 

“ This is your wedding-day,” he said. 

Jerry opened one eye and became positively 
interested. 

“ By Jove ! so it is,” he murmured, and turned 
over on the other side. 

Thompson proceeded to action. He walked into 
the adjoining room and turned on the bath water. 

48 


CHAP. V] 


BILLY 


49 


Then he returned to the bedroom, and took up an 
attitude of patient expectation by the door. Jerry 
shifted irritably in his bed. 

“ I wish you’d go away,” he said. 

“ It’s nearly ten o’clock,” replied the immovable 
Thompson. 

“ Well, I’m not going to be married before lunch.” 

” I think the bath water’s running over.” 

“ Then turn it off.” 

Thompson returned to the bathroom, and the 
sound of running water ceased. Then he re-entered 
the bedroom and deliberately pulled down the blinds. 

Jerry started up in bed. 

” What the devil are you doing ? ” he cried, this 
time thoroughly awake. 

“ I thought you wanted to go to sleep, sir.” 

“ Oh, go to blazes ! and get my breakfast. Yes, 
draw up those blinds and clear out ; I’ll get up all right 
— without you, your face worries me.” 

“ Very good, sir,” replied Thompson imperturbably, 
restoring daylight to the room. 

He closed the door softly behind him, and Jerry 
proceeded to yawn himself out of bed. It was a 
somewhat leisurely proceeding : first a skinny leg 
thrust itself shivering from the bed, to be reluctantly 
joined by its fellow some moments later, then the owner 
of the pair sat up and regarded them as if surprised at 
their energy ; apparently reconciled to the inevitable, 
he allowed his feet to find their way into a pair of carpet 
slippers, and to transport him towards the adjacent 
bathroom, where he paused for a moment to stretch 
himself before the glass. It was a weird little figure 
that met his gaze — not to him — he was used to it ; 


50 


BILLY 


[CHAP. V 

any one who was not used to it would have laughed, 
and even Thompson, who was, had been known to 
smile ; Thompson only smiled under great provocation. 

In his ordinary clothes Jerry would probably pass 
unnoticed ; that was due to his tailor. With regard to 
pyjamas, however, it was quite another matter ; there a 
man is allowed to consult his individual taste, and J erry 
fairly let himself go. He usually favoured a violent 
combination of purple, orange, and scarlet, which gave 
a dare-devil appearance to the little man ludicrously 
at variance with his diminutive form and blinking, 
short-sighted eyes. The garments themselves seemed 
obviously out of sympathy with their wearer. They 
hung round him in loose, dejected folds as if despondent 
at their fate in being compelled to cover so puny and 
inoffensive a citizen, whereas they were obviously 
intended by their designer to adorn the manly form of 
some lawless member of society with a tendency towards 
wrenching off knockers, frightening old women, and 
battering policemen, to say the least of it. It may be 
that this brave show of colour was due to the last 
lingering traces of heredity handed down to respect- 
able, anaemic Jerry by some rowdy and remote ancestor. 
There were suits of armour in Sutcliffe Hall which had 
been presumably worn by his forbears ; judging by 
the family records, these gentlemen would have been 
quite capable of wrenching off knockers had they 
existed amongst those symbols of civilization. Jerry’s 
ancestors were not noted for their law-abiding qualities ; 
their descendant lived up to their memory by violating 
every law of art, but those were the only laws that he 
had ever been known to break. 

He wandered into his dining-room and began 


CHAP. V] 


BILLY 


51 


dawdling through his breakfast. It was the last 
breakfast that he would ever take as a bachelor, so 
there was some point in making the most of it. This 
was also the last day on which he would be in active 
occupation of his flat. A new tenant had already 
been secured, and to-morrow Thompson would begin 
moving his master’s things into his new house to await 
his return from his honeymoon. Jerry was becoming 
quite sorrowful reflecting over his past bachelor com- 
forts when Blake arrived, tempestuously knocking over 
a chair in his entrance ; that was Blake’s way. Blake 
was J erry’s best man. 

Jerry looked up. 

“ Hullo, Blake,” he said ; “ kidney, kipper, or 
coffee ? ” 

The new-comer regarded him disgustedly. 

“ You surely don’t imagine that I haven’t had my 
breakfast. Do you know that it’s eleven o’clock, and 
that you’re going to be married at half-past two ? ” 

Jerry cracked his inoffensive egg with a violence 
that savoured of brutality. 

“ Do I know that I’m going to be married ? Don’t I ? 
I’ve got a new coat on that pinches me under the arms, 
new boots that hurt my feet, a valet who won’t let 
me lie in bed because it’s my wedding-day, and a best 
man who won’t let me eat my breakfast for the same 
reason. Oh yes, I know it all right, thanks very 
much.” 

“You’re an tmgrateful beast,” said Blake placidly; 
“ I just looked in to see that you understood all the 
arrangements.” 

“ I don’t want to understand the arrangements — 
they’re your affair.” 


52 


BILLY 


[chap. V 


“ Come, I like that ! I’m not going to be married.” 

“ No, but you’re doing the marrying. My dear 
friend, have you so far forgotten the teaching of your 
schooldays that you don’t know the verb ‘ to marry ’ is 
active, but the verb ‘ to be married ’ is passive ? ” 

“ Oh, rot ! ” 

“ It isn’t rot; I am going to be driven to the church 
in a taxi, which will be summoned by you — probably 
paid for at some distant date by me. At the church 
you will put me in a seat and sit by me, and keep me 
comfortable and happy until at the right time you will 
push me up alongside a beautiful lady dressed in white, 
who I imderstand is to be my wife. At some period 
or other I am to put a ring on her finger — I don’t 
know what period nor which finger — I rely upon you 
to know the time and upon the lady to know the 
place ” 

Blake got up and put on his hat. 

“ I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk quite such 
complete drivel before,” he said; “ if the lady has, and 
is going to marry you in spite of it, she must be a 
born lunatic.” 

He opened the door and paused impressively with 
his hand on the handle. 

“ All I can say to you is this,” he remarked ; “ with 
your profound interest in what is going to occur, you’ll 
be jolly lucky if you don’t find yourself married to one 
of the bridesmaids by mistake.” 

Jerry returned to his mterrupted meal. Afterwards 
he loafed into the Park, it seemed the best method of 
getting through the morning ; moreover, the weather 
was such as to tempt the most lackadaisical into the 
air. It was one of the days which give the lie to those 


CHAP. V] 


BIIvIyY 


53 


who describe November as a gloomy month, and which 
though not uncommon in the country, but rarely visit 
the metropolis. The sun smiled upon Tondon out of 
a cloudless skj^ and the air was stimulatmg, yet soft 
and caressing. It was as if the sweetness of the de- 
parted summer had been absorbed into a mighty sponge 
and squeezed out over the smoky city by some amiably 
disposed giant, who had not thereby deprived the air 
of its autumnal crispness which made a walk in the 
streets enjoyable, and a ride on a motor-’bus exhila- 
rating. It was a summer day, in fact — with a touch 
of ice in it ; just the very sort of day upon which a 
vigorous, clean minded, healthy bodied young person 
like Billy ought to be married — to a suitable mate. 

The Row was empty, save for half a dozen riders. 
Jerry leant over the rails and watched them as they 
flashed by, man and beast revelling in sunshine and 
motion ; it was too violent a form of exercise to appeal 
to him in any other capacity than that of spectator. 
He turned and strolled leisurely homewards to lunch. 
He had hardly sat down to it when Blake turned up 
again. Jerry turned a by no means welcoming face to 
his visitor. 

“ What on earth have you come back for ? ” he 
asked. 

“ To take you to church.” 

“ Don’t be an ass; there’s heaps of time.” 

" My dear fellow, I’m best man, and I’ve got lots 
of things to do after we get there.” 

“ Well, go and do them.” 

“ I’m not going without you. What the deuce do 
you want lunch for ? You’ve only just had breakfast.” 

“ I’m keeping my strength up.” 


54 


BII^LY 


[chap. V 

“ You’ll find it an expensive process — I’ve got a 
taxi ticking away tuppence to the minute downstairs.” 

Jerry got up with an aggrieved air. 

“ That settles it,” he said, “ I positively cannot eat 
my lunch at so much a minute, and, anyhow, your 
company, in your present condition, is a guarantee of 
indigestion.” 

They entered the waiting taxi, and drove to the 
church. It was only about half-past one and there 
certainly seemed no occasion for this frantic hurry, but 
Blake was a nervous, fussy individual, with an infinite 
capacity for constructing mountains out of molehills. 
That is not the quality usually sought for in a best 
man, but Jerry had been obliged to obtain his at 
somewhat short notice. 

The “ lots of things to do ” which Blake had referred 
to seemed as if they would have to be performed by 
him unassisted, for when they got to the church it 
was apparently shut up. They wandered round it 
somewhat disconsolately, but there was no sign of life 
visible except a contemplative cat which was sitting 
on a roll of red felt in front of the church door. The 
sight of the red carpet encouraged them a little, for it 
denoted that a marriage was going to take place at 
some time or other. 

Jerry seated himself on a stone ledge inside the 
entrance gates. 

“ J’y suis, fyreste,” he remarked ; “ I may also add 
that you are the most supreme example of the perfect 
blighter that I have yet met. I say this to cheer you 
up and because you seem to be under the impression 
that your efforts have not been sufficiently appreciated.” 

Blake was apparently too much crushed by the 


BII.LY 


55 


CHAP. V] 

absence of preparations to retort in suitable language. 
He went up to the church door and relieved his feelings 
by shaking it ineffectively. The cat approached and 
inserted a sympathetic claw into his leg. That gave 
him an opportunity for speech of which he availed 
himself, after which he seated himself beside J erry, and 
awaited events. After a time — it seemed like an hour, 
but it was probably ten minutes — an ancient person 
appeared on the scene and proceeded to unroll the 
carpet with leisurely backw'ard paces. Arriving op- 
posite Jerry and Blake, he became mildly aware of 
their existence. He creaked himself into an upright 
position — he was a creaky old man from his boots to 
his shoulder joints. 

“ Want anything ? ” he asked. 

“ I want to be married,” replied Jerry, “ and my 
friend wants you first of all to kill your cat, and then 
to give him some sticking plaster.” 

The old man apparently possessed no sense of 
humour. However, he possessed a key. He proceeded 
to open the church door. 

“You can go in if you like.” 

“ Thanks,” said Jerry ; “ there seems to be plenty 
of room.” 

They entered the church, and Blake deposited J erry 
in a pew near the chancel. He then hurried off to 
fuss about various things, and left him to his own 
devices. Jerry felt that he was being very badly 
treated. He gazed round at the empty church. The 
sides of the pews were decked with tall, white flowers, 
and there was a scent of lilies in the air. It was all 
very tastefully arranged, he reflected, but that was no 
reason why his lunch should have been disturbed. 


56 


BILLY 


[chap. V 

Moreover, he felt such a fool, sitting quite alone in a 
big, empty church waiting until some one should come 
along and marry him. It was as if he were a parcel 
left to be called for which had got misdirected to a 
place where there was no demand for the article. When 
Blake at length returned to him he proceeded to 
ventilate his grievances. 

" I feel as if I was being buried, not married,” he 
said, “ you’re the undertaker, and I’m the corpse. But 
there don’t seem to be any mourners,” he added 
plaintively. 

“ Oh, they’ll come along presently — that’s one of 
them now.” 

It w’asn’t a mourner, but Sydney Holroyd, who had 
been told off to show people into their seats. 

“ Hullo ! ” he said, when he saw Jerry; “ you are 
keen. Got in by the early doors, I suppose ? I told 
Billy you probably wouldn’t turn up.” 

“Did you?” said Jerry; “and what did she 
say ? ” 

“ Well, she didn’t exactly say ’ no such luck,’ 
because that wouldn’t be polite, but I inferred that 
that was what she meant.” 

“ Thanks so much — you’ll make a delightful brother- 
in-law,” 

The audience — as Sydney somewhat irreverently 
termed them — began to arrive, first in spots and then 
in a regular shower — as his sister would have said. 
Ticking taxis and throbbing motors disgorged at the 
gateway leading to the porch, and Sydney found him- 
self fully engaged in escorting their occupants to their 
places. Jim arrived amongst the rest — he walked — 
he eluded Sydney’s kind offer of a “ front stall,” and 


CHAP. V] 


BILLY 


57 


took up a more unobtrusive position in a corner seat 
bordering the aisle lower down the church. Jim had 
been in two minds about coming at all. There was no 
necessity for him to do so, for his professional occupa- 
tions would have provided an excellent explanation of 
his absence. Busy barristers — and Jim was busy now 
— are not expected to go to weddings except their own ; 
their interest in marriage is supposed to arise later. At 
the last moment Jim made up his mind to come, sent 
out his hat to be ironed, bought a pair of new gloves a 
size too small for him, and left his practice and his 
clerk to take care of themselves — or rather, each other. 

As he sat in the church watching the people arrive 
and listening to the organ, he wondered why he had 
come after all ; for he loved Billy ; he wanted to marry 
her ; coming to see somebody else do so seemed to be 
unnecessarily rubbing it in. It is true that he had 
resigned himself to the inevitable — well, one resigns 
oneself to an aching tooth, but one need not be always 
worrying it. The tooth had almost ceased aching of 
late ; all the more reason for leaving it alone ; never- 
theless, one doesn’t — and Jim was here. 

He sat and watched the congregation. He won- 
dered why they had come — apparently to see each 
other’s dresses. The restless atmosphere which always 
pervades these functions jarred upon him. Like most 
people who do not enter a church often, Jim did so 
with reverence. To him a church was something more 
than mere bricks and mortar ; to these people it seemed 
only to be an excellent place for the performance of 
the show they had come to see. They greeted each 
other on their way down the aisle, and stopped to chat 
upon any mutual topic of interest ; it was a kind of 


58 


BILrIvY 


[chap. V 


pleasant conversazione with organ accompaniment. 
J im wondered what would happen if the organ suddenly 
ceased playing and these banalities acquired a simul- 
taneous prominence. Would these people feel ashamed 
of themselves, or would it be the vicar who would feel 
ashamed — of his organist ? 

From which it appears that Jim was thoroughly 
old fashioned in his ideas. 

The arrival of the bridal party put an end to further 
meditation. The familiar “ Voice that breathed o’er 
Eden ” began its accustomed performance, and the 
congregation stood up to watch Billy’s progress up 
the aisle on the arm of her father, to wonder how she 
liked it, and to criticize or admire her wedding-dress, 
according to their several temperaments. All women 
do not show to advantage in their wedding gowns ; 
many of them look like dolls, and others as if they 
had just stepped off the top of a Christmas cake ; but 
Billy was not of these. Whether it was her command- 
ing height, or her apparent imconsciousness that she 
was wearing anything out of the common or doing 
anything unusual, the result was that she made a very 
charming and attractive bride, and produced an agree- 
able sense of freshness. She saw Jim at once, and 
threw him a friendly smile. She passed him and he 
watched her standing by the chancel gates — a tall 
figure in white towering above her bridesmaids — and 
then she was joined by a diminutive little man with 
sandy hair. Jim had seen Jerry before, but he had 
never realized him until that moment. Suddenly the 
intense incongruity of the thing crystallized in his 
brain — his Billy married to that ! 

Then the service began. To Jim it seemed a 


CHAP. V] 


BILLY 


59 


mockery, a sacrilege. What was Billy about ? Did 
she know what she was doing ? Did the people all 
round him realize the nature of what they were witness- 
ing. He banished his reflections with an effort, and 
concentrated himself upon the service. The beautiful 
words of the ceremony struck an answering chord in 
his being. He found himself unconsciously repeating 
to himself after the preacher, “ I, James Stone, take 
thee to my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this 

day forward, for better, for worse ” Ah ! if it 

were only he standing there at her side, how different 
it would all be ! 

Presently it was over. The Wedding March blazed 
into sound. Billy was a wife. She came down the 
aisle on the arm of her husband. Jim looked at the 
insigniflcant little man, and the desire possessed him 
to wrench him away from Billy and take his place. 
Instead of which he slipped out of the church and went 
back to his chambers. 

Billy settled herself comfortably in the carriage. 

“ Well, Jerry,” she said, “ I’ve promised to love 
and obey you — I hope you’ll be a kind master.” 

J erry regarded his bride admiringly. 

“ I’ve promised one or two things as well,” he 
laughed ; “ but I don’t suppose you will call for 

delivery.” 

“ Mutual debts make long friends,” she replied. 
“ We’ve got what tradesmen call a ‘ contra account.’ ” 

The wedding reception was held at an adjacent 
hotel, and there for about an hour Billy amiably 
showed herself off to her admiring friends. 

“ I feel like a waxwork,” she said to Winnie ; " as for 
poor old Jerry, he’s simply melting — just look at him.” 


6o 


BILLY 


[chap. V 


Jerrj^ certainly presented a very limp appearance, 
the absence of his lunch and his unwonted exertions 
during the last couple of hours had quite tired him 
out. He came up to Billy. 

“ What time does our train go ? ” 

“ Five o’clock ; you’ve got another half-hour of this, 
and you’ll have it on your own too, for I’m going off to 
change my things.” 

She made her escape from the crowded room, and 
Jerry followed her example as soon as he decently 
could. He had to change too, and he also wanted a 
breath of fresh air, for the reception room was stifling. 
He resigned himself to the care of Thompson, who 
proceeded to pack his master into a brand-new suit. 
Then he lit a cigarette and waited until some one 
should send for him. He tried to rouse his stolid 
servant, who was packing his bag. 

“ I don’t think I shall get married again, Thomp- 
son,” he said. 

Thompson regarded him placidly. 

“ Under existing circumstances, sir,” he said, 
“ you’ll get about seven years if you do.” 

"You’ve no sense of humour,” said Jerry petu- 
lantly. 

“ No, sir,” replied Thompson, as he finished his 
packing. " Your hot-water bottle is on top.” 

Presently the carriage arrived to take the newly 
married pair to the station, and Jerry went downstairs. 
There was the usual excitement attendant upon a 
honeymoon departure, and the usual inconvenient 
things down the back of their necks thrown by sym- 
pathetic friends who desired them to start their married 
life comfortably. Mrs. Holroyd alternately embraced 


BILLY 


CHAP. V] 


6x 


her daughter and talked twenty to the dozen to Lord 
Sutcliffe, who listened with patient boredom — she didn’t 
know whether she felt most inclined to laugh or to cry, 
so she did both by turns. 

“ Thank goodness that’s over I ” sighed Billy, as 
the carriage set off at a smart trot. She gave a little 
wriggle of discomfort. “ In future,” she said, “ rice 
shall be exclusively reserved for our puddings.” 

At Victoria an obsequious guard locked them into 
a first-class compartment. 

“ First stop Maidstone, second stop Folkestone,” he 
said, as he pocketed Jerry’s half-crown ; “ I’ll be round 
to let you out when you arrive.” 

They seated themselves at opposite ends of the 
carriage : Billy stretched herself luxuriously and placed 
her feet on the opposite seat, Jerry’s dangled over his 
and barely touched the ground. He glanced admiringly 
at his wife as the train glided out of the statioir. 

“ You look splendid,” he said. 

“You may smoke but you mustn’t flirt,” replied 
Billy, engrossing herself in the pages of the Sporting 
and Dramattc. 

Jerry availed himself of the invitation and lit a 
cigarette. He had bought a pile of papers, but he 
didn’t want to read them. He was a prey to new 
sensations and they were rather pleasant ones ; he 
wanted to enjoy them. He had entered into this 
marriage as a convenient arrangement, and he was 
just beginning to appreciate how very convenient it 
was. He looked across at Billy engaged in reading 
her paper. As he had said, she looked splendid, her 
long figure was stretched across the carriage. She was 
lounging and yet she was graceful, she was always 


62 BIIyl/Y [chap. V 

graceful, but it had never struck him quite so forcibly 
before. He began to feel that he was lucky to have 
found such a wife. 

They rattled into Penge Tunnel. Billy put down her 
paper until they should have passed through it, for the 
noise distracted her attention from what she was 
reading. 

Jerry studied her face as she leant back in her 
seat with her eyes partially closed. Yes. She was 
almost beautiful ; probably many people would con- 
sider her to be quite so. Her chin was perhaps rather 
square, and her mouth rather big for a girl, but some- 
how these did not seem to constitute defects in her, 
and her complexion was glorious and her eyes brimful 
of health. She opened them, as they rushed out of 
the tunnel, and confronted Jerry’s gaze. 

“ What is it ? ” she asked ; “ have I got a smut on 
my nose ? ” 

“ No,” he replied, with what he intended for a 
tender inflexion in his voice; “I was only admiring 
you, my dear.” 

Billy returned to her paper. 

“ I will not be called ‘ my dear ’ until I’m forty — 
and I hope not then,” she laughed, and declined to be 
drawn into further conversation imtil they arrived at 
Folkestone. 

There was a cold breeze blowing off the sea as they 
stepped on to the platform. 

Billy drew the air into her lungs with a little gasp 
of pleasure, and Jerry shivered and turned up the collar 
of his overcoat. They got into the omnibus which was 
waiting and drove to their hotel. Their arrival was 
evidently expected. A man in a frock coat, who looked 


CHAP, v] BILLY 63 

as if he was the manager, but probably wasn’t, ushered 
them into the hall. 

“ Show this lady and gentleman to number thirty- 
nine, James,” he said to an attendant sprite. 

Billy crossed the hall and conferred with the young 
lady in charge of the office. Then she returned to her 
husband with a slight flush on her handsome face. The 
bookkeeper beckoned to the frock-coated official and he 
crossed to her. Then he returned to the attendant who 
was waiting to show the way to the new arrivals. 

“ Show this lady to number twenty-eight,” he said, 
“ and the gentleman to number forty.” 

Billy and Jerry followed their guide upstairs, and 
the man in the frock coat gazed after them. He 
scratched his head, apparently puzzled. Then he 
winked at the bookkeeper. 

“ That’s funny,” he said. 


CHAPTER VI 


February found Billy and her husband installed in 
their new house in Queen’s Gate. There was nothing 
remarkable about their honeymoon except its length, 
but they had both experienced such a good time under 
the influence of the balmy air, the blue skies and the 
sunshine of the South, that they had desired to prolong 
it as long as possible. After about two months of this 
sort of thing they began dawdling home along the 
Mediterranean, and finally arrived in Eondon in the 
middle of February and a poisonous black fog. 

It had been a particularly enjoyable trip for both 
of them, perhaps the more so because each had privately 
anticipated being bored in the other’s company. They 
had married each other for mutual independence, in 
order that each might go his or her own way, but the 
conventions required that for at least a fortnight they 
should pursue the same path. They had mutually 
agreed that as England was intolerable at that time of 
year they should extend this period for a month, but 
neither of them had expected that they would wish 
to make it longer than that, and Billy had resigned 
herself to the apparently inevitable fate of having her 
energy hampered by her feeble little husband, whilst 
he had equally resigned himself to the prospect of having 
to trot about at his wife’s skirts and get out of breath. 

Whereas, nothing of the sort happened. Neither 
64 


BILI.Y 


65 


CHAP. Vl] 

bored the other, neither hampered nor tired the other, - 
the scenes they visited were fresh to each, and both 
were equally interested in them. In different ways, 
of course, according to their natures. Jerry’s affection 
for the old and useless was not confined to fossils, and 
the Pyramids appealed to him on account of their anti- 
quarian interest, but Billy was equally fascinated by 
the idea of playing golf round them and of putting 
over “ browns ” of baked Nile mud instead of " greens ” 
of English turf. Again, Jerry liked pottering round 
the native shops of Cairo, but Billy was quite content 
to accompany him with her kodak, snapshotting the 
animated scenes around her and deriving considerable 
amusement from watching her quaint little husband as 
he bargained for the latest antiquity from Birmingham. 
Jerry developed a veritable passion for purchasing 
fearsome weapons from awe-inspiring Arabs. It was 
a sight for the gods to see him in heated altercation 
with some brawny bedouin of the desert, the latter 
brandishing a wicked-looking sword in his hand, and the 
former obviously in doubt as to whether the weapon 
was intended for sale or murder. As a matter of fact, 
the swarthy-looking gentleman was probably a perfectly 
peaceful citizen, and only engaged in explaining with 
Oriental emphasis that the sword had been blessed by 
the prophet, but as Jerry didn’t understand a word he 
was saying he could only judge the speaker’s intentions 
by his gesticulations, which were not reassuring. At 
the end of the day Jerry would return to the hotel 
laden with a collection of antiquated muzzle-loaders 
and unpleasant-looking knives, whilst Billy stalked by 
his side feeling as if she was married to a man who had 
just gone in for the pirate business. 


F 


66 


BIIXY 


[chap. VI 


They “ did the Sahara,” at least, that was the way 
Billy put it. She said it was absurd to come to Egypt 
and not see a desert when there was one quite nice and 
handy, but she was disappointed in it when she saw it, 
she thought it was “ too civilized ” — it is true that she 
didn’t see much of it. She saw a camel, however — it 
seemed an appropriate place for it — and she urged 
Jerry to have a ride. In a weak moment he consented. 

It was a mild enough camel — as camels go — and 
it permitted Jerry to mount it by docilely kneeling 
down and laying its ugly jaw on the sand. Once he 
was in the saddle, however, it proceeded to take things 
into its own hands — figuratively speaking — staggered 
to its feet with the jerky movements characteristic 
of camels and unoiled machinery, and proceeded to 
stride into the desert at about six miles an hour. 

” Stop ! ” shouted Jerry, and clutched hold of the 
camel’s right ear, but that worthy beast, having an 
imperfect knowledge of English, or possibly imagining 
that the tug on his ear was intended to stimulate him 
to further efforts, increased his pace to an ambling trot. 
Anybody who has ever been trotted by a camel 
possesses a vivid recollection of it for some time. To 
Jerry it seemed as if he was being taken by the hair 
of his head and dumped down upon a smgularly hard 
saddle at uncomfortably frequent intervals. It was 
a very painful progress that he made, but not a long one, 
for the camel’s owner uttered some remark in Arabic — 
it sounded as if he was swearing horribly, but he was 
probably only calling the animal by its name — and 
the unwieldy beast turned and trotted back to its 
master. The latter was perfectly calm and unmoved, 
and the former had the sort of imbecile grin which 


BILIyY 


CHAP. Vl] 


67 


becomes diabolically expressive upon a flabby mouth 
which can apparently turn in every direction and is 
imperfectly provided with teeth. 

Billy watched the undulating return of her 
diminutive lord and master with tears streaming down 
her cheeks — they were tears of uncontrollable mirth. 
She gazed up at the little figure perched on the top of 
the camel — Jerry had dropped his hat, his spectacles 
still remained on his nose, but they jerked up and down 
in sympathetic unison with the convulsive bumps of 
their owner. 

“ Oh, Jerry,” she cried, “ you looked lovely trotting 
into the Sahara. You ought to have gone on; you 
might have discovered something.” 

“I’ve discovered that I’m not particularly fond 
of this camel,” replied Jerry rather crossly; “you 
try it.” 

So Billy did — and rather liked it. 

“ It’s very like a churn,” she said, when she got 
down. “ Bet’s take one home and then we can make 
our own butter, and I’ll ride it in the Row for exercise.” 

They spent a week at Algiers on their way home and 
did the mosques amongst other things. Jerry doing 
a mosque in felt slippers three sizes too large for him 
was always a treat to Billy. He wore a look of con- 
centrated agony on his face as he tried to keep them on, 
being obviously under the impression that if he didn’t 
he would be instantly taken out and bowstrung. On 
one occasion, indeed, one of his slippers did come off, 
and with a commendable desire to avoid polluting the 
mosque he endeavoured to continue his progress by 
hopping, by which means he nearly lost his other 
slipper, and conveyed the impression that he had 


68 BILIyY [CHAP. VI 

suddenly gone mad. Fortunately, Billy found the 
missing article almost at once, and thereby prevented 
her husband being shut up by the French Government 
as a dangerous lunatic. 

They found no more camels at Algiers, but Billy 
went about in hopes of meeting an Algerian lion ; 
however, in this she was disappointed, there not being 
even a circus one on view. There were plenty of donkeys 
though, and she and Jerry attempted a donkey ride. 
So far as J erry was concerned, it was fairly successful, 
but as soon as Billy seated her long frame on the back 
of the donkey she had selected, the sensible little beast 
promptly sat down too and declined to move. 

They didn’t stay in the town of Algiers, but on 
the heights of Mustapha Superieur, whence they 
obtained beautiful views of the Mediterranean, both 
from their bedrooms and from the hotel gardens. It 
was at this hotel one day that Jerry came out in a 
new light, for he burst into song. Billy knew that her 
husband was supposed to have a nice voice, but she 
had imagined this to be a more or less amiable myth 
invented by his family. She had certainly never 
attempted to investigate it — she wasn’t musical — 
and Jerry was much too shy to volunteer to perform. 
The first intimation of his new-born assertiveness was 
when she strolled into the hotel drawing-room one 
afternoon and found him carolling away, with a 
Mrs. D’Arcy playing his accompaniments for him. 
They were Mrs. D’Arcy’s songs, and she was trans- 
posing them at sight into a key suitable for Jerry’s 
compass. They had the drawing-room to themselves, 
and Billy had never seen Jerry so much at ease with 
any woman before. He flushed when he saw her and 


BILLY 


CHAP. Vl] 


69 


his voice quavered with nervousness. He stumbled 
on for a few bars and then stopped. 

“ Go on, Caruso,” said Billy encouragingly ; “ don’t 
mind me.” 

Her appearance had, however, quite spoilt Jerry’s 
singing, for it made him self-conscious. Billy perceived 
this after a moment or two, and amiably departed into 
the garden — “ to see if the birds were jealous,” she said, 
after which Jerry recovered his courage and his voice. 

The explanation of the incident was very simple. 
Mrs. D’Arcy had been trying over some of her songs 
before lunch and had left them lying open upon the 
piano. Jerry had entered the deserted drawing-room 
after lunch and, secure in his solitude, had attacked 
the easiest of them in a subdued voice, and with much 
fumbling of fingers and many wrong notes, for Jerry’s 
knowledge of piano playing was distinctly elementary. 
Mrs. D’Arcy came into the room whilst he was thus 
engaged and had been first an amused and then an 
interested spectator — amused when she found that 
Jerry didn’t know how to play, and interested when 
she discovered that he had a very fair idea how to 
sing. She had been about to retire as unobtrusively 
as she had entered when Jerry discovered her, to his 
dire confusion. He had made a frightened resistance 
when she had suggested accompanying him, but she 
soon overcame this, and gradually his shyness wore 
off under her manipulation, much as the skin of an 
orange lends itself to skilful peeling but remains 
stubborn to any other form of removal. Nobody had 
ever approached Jerry in this scientific way before. 

Moreover, never before had his voice been given 
such an opportunity. On the few occasions on which 


70 


BIIvIvY 


[chap. VI 


he had hitherto sung he had relied upon his sister at 
the piano, and Blanche’s method of accompanying 
was to strike all the notes with complete accuracy of 
time and equal vehemence of touch, being quite 
mdifferent as to what the singer might be doing. 
That wasn’t Mrs. D’Arcy’s way. She was a born 
accompanist; she nursed the singer, stimulated him, 
brought the very best out of him if he was a good 
performer, subdued his defects if he was a bad one. 
There are very few really good accompanists, and those 
that are good joy in their art and take every oppor- 
tunity of practising it. It was a regular hobby of 
Mrs. D’Arcy, which accounted for the interest she took 
in Jerry — but he could hardly be expected to under- 
stand that. He experienced much the same pleasure 
as does the cat which is rubbed under the ear ; like 
the cat he purred, and like the cat he failed to realize 
that people rub a cat’s ear quite as much for their 
own satisfaction as that of the cat. 

It was with quite a pang of regret that Billy and 
Jerr}’’ left Algiers. Mrs. D’Arcy came to see them off. 
She was a widow of the type that is termed fascinating 
or fast, according to whether the speaker belongs to 
the opposite sex or not. Billy hadn’t formed either 
opinion of her, or, indeed, any at all. She returned her 
hand wave cordially, however, as their steamer throbbed 
out of the harbour. Then she gazed at the terraced 
houses gleaming ivory-like in the sun, and dotted here 
and there with their narrow windows. She turned to 
Jerry. 

“ They call it the ‘ White City,’ ” she said; “ but 
I call it ‘ the City of Dominoes.’ I’m sorry to leave it 
all ; it’s been verj'- jolly, hasn’t it ? ” 


BILLY 


71 


CHAP. Vl] 

"Yes," he replied, “ we’ve had a splendid time.” 

But all that had changed, as they reflected some- 
what sadly whilst they stood coughing in the fog-laden 
hall of their new house. It might almost have been 
described as " their new houses,” for the dining-room 
and the drawing-room were the only apartments which 
they were to occupy in common. The rest of the house 
had been divided up with charming impartiality 
between them, and their respective bedrooms and 
sitting-rooms bore much the same relation to each 
other as do the poles. The spare bedrooms, of which 
there were two, formed a kind of No Man’s Land, 
which either of them might presumably colonize with 
temporary occupants, and the hall and passages might 
equally be considered the territory of neither, but 
through which both of them possessed rights of way. 

The arrangements had been carried out whilst they 
were away. Thompson had represented his master, 
and Curtis her mistress — Billy couldn’t stand the idea 
of travelling with a maid, and so she had left her behind. 
These deputies had looked after their employers’ 
interests on rigid arithmetical principles, a task which 
the architect had rendered comparatively easy by 
departing from the manner of his kind and designing 
a large number of small rooms instead of a small 
number of large ones. 

But if the architect had thus involuntarily lent 
his assistance, Mrs. Holroyd and Blanche had done 
their best to neutralize his efforts by their own. They 
had considered it their duty to come and superintend 
the preparations for habitation of the new house, and 
those preparations by no means had their approval. 
It was in vain that Thompson and Curtis explained 


72 


BILLY 


[chap. VI 

their instructions ; their statements only caused 
Blanche to snort and Mrs. Holroyd to declare tear- 
fully that they must have misunderstood them. The 
spare bedrooms were a constant cause of discord ; they 
were on different floors, one on that occupied by Billy, 
and one on that where Jerry’s apartments were situated. 
This equally offended Mrs. Holroyd’s sense of the 
orthodox and Blanche’s sense of order, and they united 
in insisting that this arrangement could never have been 
intended. The battle raged long on this point ; it was 
so obvious that the spare bedrooms should be on one 
floor, and the other allocated to the master and mistress. 
Thompson, overwhelmed by superior argument, was 
nearly giving in, but Curtis remained firm. She 
insisted that her mistress had given her definite 
instructions. “ No, she couldn’t give reasons, she 
hadn’t got any, but she’d got her orders ” ; and so she 
carried the day in the teeth of opposition. 

The whole affair had resolved itself into a contest, 
as Curtis explained to Billy whilst she helped her out 
of her travelling dress, as to whether Blanche and 
Mrs. Holroyd could undo or prevent being done what 
the servants had already accomplished or were intent 
on doing. Mrs. Holroyd and Blanche had lost, however, 
because the servants were in effective occupation of 
the house. 

Billy and her husband ate their first dinner together 
in their new house in a state of depressed silence. In 
the first place they were tired — especially Jerry — and 
in the second the fog made them cough when either 
of them essayed conversation, so they gave it up as a 
bad job by mutual consent. After dinner, Jerry lit 
a cigarette, but that made him cough also, so he threw 


CHAP. Vl] 


BII.LY 


73 


it away. Billy went up to her sitting-room and settled 
herself to read, but the fog made her eyes smart, so 
she went to bed ; J erry had apparently decided to do 
the same, for she heard the thud of his boots as he 
kicked them off his feet on the floor above her head — 
Jerry had large feet. She got into bed and went to 
sleep and dreamt that Jerry was being chased across 
the Sahara by an angry camel, and that he stopped 
every now and then to throw boots at the animal to 
keep him at bay. Where the boots came from did not 
clearly appear ; they seemed to grow on her husband’s 
feet as fast as he took them off, innumerable boots, 
great, big, heavy boots which hit the camel with a 
curiously wooden sound. 

It was Curtis knocking at the door with the early 
morning tea ; the fog had cleared away and the sun 
was shining. 

A house-warming seemed imperative, so, as soon as 
she had settled down, Billy gave a dance. It was 
largely attended and was generally voted a great 
success, though somewhat crowded. Billy asked one 
of her girl friends to come up, and Jerry, not to be 
outdone in hospitality, invited a learned antiquary of 
his acquaintance up to Town, and the two spent a 
pleasant evening in the library discussing the relation 
of earthquakes to the flood, introducing a brand-new 
theory of Jerry’s concerning the Ark, whilst Billy and 
her friends on the floor above endeavoured — un- 
successfully — to bring down the ceiling on their heads. 

Jerry’s absence was somewhat commented on. 
Jerry was only non-existent when present; then no one 
noticed him — but Billy explained that he was not a 
dancing man. He did put in an appearance with his 


74 


BILI.Y 


[chap. VI 

learned friend about supper time. The latter was 
introduced to a lady of mature years in spectacles, as 
she seemed the most fitting person present to bear 
the infliction. She allowed herself to be taken down 
to supper and fed, and endeavoured to assume an air 
of rapt interest whilst her companion embarked upon 
a complicated geological analogy with reference to the 
strata of a neapolitan ice. 

Jim turned up and occupied as much of Billy’s 
attention as she was prepared to give him, which was 
a good deal. J im was fond of dancing, but he was not 
an inspired dancer ; he always gave his partner the 
impression that he was looking where he was going. 

“ Your dancing is characteristic of you,” said 
Billy; “ thoroughly safe.” 

“ Oh, I know I’m not exciting,” he replied ; “ I have 
kept inside the speed limit all my life.” 

“Dear old Jim,” she laughed; “I hear you’re 
travelling rapidly at the Bar though.” 

“ Oh yes, things are going rather strong — and j^ou ? ” 

“ A I ! ” said Billy ; “ Jerry and I hit it off just 
right.” 

She related the experiences of her honeymoon with 
great gusto, whilst Jim sat and listened. He was 
astonished, to put it mildly. He knew Billy intimately, 
understood her vagaries, knew that when she said 
outrageous things she didn’t mean them, but here she 
was holding up her husband to ridicule, and obviously 
quite unconscious that she was doing anything out 
of the common. It apparently didn’t occur to her 
that if her husband was an absurd person, she bore his 
name, that if he made himself ridiculous he made her 
look ridiculous too, that she was bound up in his life 


BILLY 


75 


CHAP. Vl] 

and must bear the brunt of his antics, not laugh at 
them. Jim looked at her animated face as she 
described Jerry marching into the hotel encumbered 
with warlike weapons which he had just purchased. 
She obviously enjoyed recalling the incident. It was 
as if she were merely an interested observer watching 
some funny show. She was part of the show, but she 
didn’t know it. Well, it wasn’t his place to enlighten 
her ; she would learn it soon enough. He couldn’t, 
however, avoid a feeling of irritation at her attitude 
in the matter. 

“ You seem to regard your husband as a sort of 
Corner Man,” he remarked, when she had finished. 

She assented readily, apparently not noticing 
anything unusual in his tone. 

“ Yes,” she said, “ Jerry’s great fun.” 


CHAPTER VII 


The house-warming over and the house restored to 
something approaching order, Billy proceeded to the 
serious practice of her new profession of a married 
woman. She found it a very pleasant one. She 
would have felt puzzled to explain wherein lay the 
exact difference between her former and her present 
state, but a difference undoubtedly existed. Formerly 
she was able to do pretty much as she liked, but now 
she was able to do entirely so. Then she had been able 
to say whatever came into her head and did i she did 
the same now, but it was different somehow. Perhaps 
the change consisted more in the way her sayings and 
doings were received than anything else. They seemed 
to have acquired an added importance. She found 
people listening to her when she talked ; it was a new 
experience and rather flattering. Her girl friends 
appeared to regard her as a person somewhat superior 
to themselves, as one who had solved one of the 
mysteries of existence ; it was rather nice to be treated 
like that, and there was no occasion to tell them that 
there was no mystery at all. The absence of maternal 
advice and brotherly criticism also gave her an un- 
expected sensation of relief. She didn’t realize that 
their opinions of her conduct possessed any weight 
until they were removed. Winnie also was now 
reduced to a sufficiently proper sense of her mferiority 

76 


BILLY 


77 


CHAP. VIl] 

to be quite a pleasant companion — her criticisms 
before had been completely ignored but none the less 
definitely expressed. Her father regarded her with 
the respect with which he would have looked at a 
sound investment which he had been instrumental in 
floating on the market. Jerry pursued his uneventful 
way, untroubled and untroubling, a useful sort of 
article to have about the house, and one which required 
no looking after. He occupied much the same position 
in the household as does the ownerless hat which is 
hung on a peg in the hall by timid maiden ladies, 
firmly impressed that thereby they will frighten 
away any enterprising burglar who may happen to 
call. 

Take it all in all, Billy was highly satisfied with the 
situation, and she even found herself going out calling 
with a sense of pleasure which arose from a sense of added 
importance. Hitherto, calls had been a disagreeable 
task which she had avoided whenever possible, leaving 
those family duties to her mother and Winnie, to whom 
they seemed admirably suited. Then she was merely 
a fragment of her family; now she represented her 
family herself — and Jerry was the fragment. Calling 
had not formed an item upon Billy's projected matri- 
monial programme, but she found it so pleasant that 
she added it to the bill. 

Thus, she began to enlarge her acquaintance. She 
and Jerry found themselves unceasingly asked out to 
dine and Billy usually went alone. This was, of course, 
highly unconventional for a recently married pair, but 
it speedily became accepted as a commonplace in this 
instance ; everybody knew that Billy and J erry got 
along excellently, and if one of them chose to dine with 


y8 BILLY [chap, vii 

her friends and the other at his club or at home, that 
was their affair, 

" My husband is afraid of every woman except 
one, and he married her,” explained Billy with her 
accustomed frankness, and the statement had the 
merit of sweet reasonableness to any one who knew 
Jerry. 

Billy was fortunate in her new-found friends. 
Amongst them was a Mrs. Mervyn, who took a great 
fancy to her. Any one to whom Mrs. Mervyn took a 
fancy was bound to be pronoimced “ all right ” by 
the people who mattered, and thereafter Billy had 
carte blanche to go as she pleased without criticism, 
though, needless to say, she would have done so in 
any case. 

It is difficult to explain wherein lay the power of 
Mrs. Mervyn’s cachet. She was nothing in particular, 
merely the widow of a colonel who had been shot in 
the South African War. She was not particularly 
well off although she managed to run an electric 
coupe and a flat at Albert Court, and the journalistic 
gossips displayed little or no interest in what she wore 
or where she went. She was, however, a person of 
considerable social significance, for she had the reputa- 
tion not of knowing “ everybody,” but of ” everybody ” 
knowing her. 

Jerry also was conscious of a sense of freedom 
which he had not hitherto known. It is true that 
in his London flat he had been able to lead the more or 
less go-as-you-please existence of a bachelor, but he 
had been periodically pulled out of his state of passive- 
ness by his aggressively energetic sister and other 
relatives and shaken violently — figuratively speaking. 


BILIvY 


79 


CHAP. VIl] 

He had been dragged hither and thither at intervals — 
he was much too weak before the eagle-eyed Blanche to 
resist — and thrown into the arms of various girls with 
a view to matrimony. He used to escape back to his 
flat and Thompson as soon as he could, and try to 
forget these disturbing influences, but he knew that 
a repetition of them always loomed in the future, and 
it worried him. Now that was all over. 

“ I used to feel like a carpet that was being con- 
stantly taken up and beaten,” he said to Blake at the 
club ; “ but now I’m nicely nailed down and can get as 
dusty as I like.” 

“ And trodden on,” philosophized his erstwhile 
best man. “ You’re about the rummiest beggar I 
know ; however, you’ve got a nice taste in wives, and I 
suppose you know what’s good for you.” 

Jerry was beginning to feel that his marriage was 
very good for him indeed. It is somewhat difficult 
to find ladies — especially young ones — with views on 
marriage similar to his. He had found one, however, 
a young one and a charming one — he was beginning to 
discover that Billy could be very charming when she 
liked — and he rightly considered himself to be a very 
fortunate fellow. The rigour of the contract became 
slightly relaxed on both sides by mutual consent ; 
that is to say, the internal domestic arrangements 
grew insensibly more elastic and Jerry and Billy began 
to encroach upon each other’s territory. 

It began with Jerry inviting Billy mto the library 
one evening on her return from a dinner, and Jerry 
inviting himself into her sitting-room on another 
occasion because he alleged that the library fire smoked. 
After which they dispensed with invitations and 


8o BIIvLY [chap. VII 

entered these rooms as they chose, only prepared to 
leave them without protest if they weren’t wanted. 

Thus it came about that Billy went into the library 
as a matter of course on her way home from dinner, 
dance or theatre, and Jerry would look up from his 
fossils, or his book, or wake from his sleep and be glad 
to see her. He was still funny in Billy’s eyes, he could 
hardly fail to be that — and the big carpet slippers 
and violently tinted smoking jacket which he wore on 
these occasions didn’t make him less so — but she began 
to get quite fond of him. Of course she had always 
liked him or she wouldn’t have married him, but it 
had been a very negative form of affection on her part. 
Now she almost looked forward to seeing him on her 
return home and felt that she would really miss him 
if he were not there, perhaps much in the same way 
that one misses a cat which is not in its accustomed 
place. 

She rather objected to his smoking jacket. As has 
been stated, in the few articles of attire in which he was 
not dominated by his tailor, Jerry consulted his own 
individual taste, which was execrable. He had suffi- 
cient sense to keep the extravagant portions of his 
wardrobe for private exhibition only, and his smoking 
jacket was one of them — it was a sort of talking rainbow 
in silk and velvet. It was made by a highly respectable 
tailor who would certainly have disowned the article 
had it been worn in public. Billy once or twice made 
chaffing references to it, but the look on her husband’s 
face showed her that he didn’t relish them, and, after 
all, she reflected, it was one of the terms of their 
contract to mmd their own business, and this was his. 

But although their bargain became a slightly more 


CHAP, vn] 


BILLY 


8i 


humanized affair, it still remained essentially what it 
was. They each pursued their separate lives, and 
though they were quite glad to see each other, they did 
so very seldom. Various circumstances contributed 
to this; for instance, breakfast was a solitary meal. 
Billy was through it and probably in the Park by the 
time Jerry came down to it. Lunch he usually pre- 
ferred to take at his club, and she, anywhere she 
happened to be, perhaps at home, but more often at 
her golf club near Richmond, or at some place where 
she had been shopping, or at a friend’s house. At 
tea they practically never met, and at dinner perhaps 
twice a week. 

Billy got asked out all over the place in the evening, 
and she revelled in her independence and went. Jerry 
was quite content to stay at home, or occasionally put 
in an evening at his club. He didn’t care about going 
out ; he always shut up in the presence of feminine 
society like a concertina ; women didn’t appeal to 
him, and he only appealed to their sense of the ludicrous, 
so he wisely concentrated his energies on his fossils, 
which had no sense of humour, or, at any rate, were 
incapable of displaying it. 

On the rare occasions when he and Billy did sit 
opposite each other at their own table, she was always 
prepared to talk and he was always ready to listen, 
so that the time did not hang heavily on her hands. 
Occasionally they gave a dinner party — quite a small 
one, for Billy was a young, untried hostess as yet. 
J im was almost invariably invited upon these occasions, 
and Billy usually contrived to get him to take her into 
dinner and to see a good deal of him afterwards, which 
was very satisfactory so far as she was concerned, but 

G 


82 


BILI/Y 


[chap. VII 

rather disturbing to Jim’s peace of mind, for he was 
quite as much in love with her as ever. He endeavoured 
to accustom himself to the r6le of elder brother, but he 
could not conceal from himself that elder brothers do 
not customarily hunger for the society of their sisters 
and feel depressed in their absence. However, Jim 
was an honest young man, and a man’s sentiments 
towards other men’s wives possess no public interest 
under those circumstances. 

In this way the months slipped by pleasantly and 
swiftly, and Billy found herself past Ascot and at the 
close of the season almost before she had realized that 
it had begun. She had really spent a very strenuous 
time, but her physical health enabled her to do so 
without particularly noticing it. However, she was 
quite prepared for a month’s comparative quiet at 
Sutcliffe Park when J erry suggested it, and accordingly 
the end of July saw them departing for the country. 
Then there certainly followed an exceedingly quiet 
time. Neither Bord Sutcliffe nor Jerry cared for 
visitors, Blanche didn’t want them — there was nobody 
else to marry off — she didn’t propose any such foolish- 
ness for herself, and there was no occasion to ask any 
one down to shoot anything, because there wasn’t 
anything to shoot. Consequently, a period of stag- 
nation set in which Billy at first found very restful and 
finally very dull. 

It rained nearly every day, but Billy couldn’t 
dispense with exercise, so she took long country walks 
over the hills, got wet through and changed her clothes 
when she got home. She made friends with a weak- 
minded sheep-dog on one of these occasions, who 
forthwith neglected his duties and used to accompany 


BILLY 


CHAP. VIl] 


83 


her. She tried fishing in a neighbouring burn in which 
fish were fabled to exist but had never yet been caught, 
and which lived fully up to its reputation on these 
occasions. She attempted to read Jerry’s books, but 
they sent her to sleep, and she essayed polishing his 
specimens, but she broke them. Finally, when the 
vicar came to tea one afternoon, she volunteered to 
help his daughter to get up a ladies’ team to play the 
local cricket club, which was rather a false step on her 
part, as the worthy man’s daughter was about forty 
and had a wooden leg. However, Billy didn’t know 
that. 

After that she gave it up and decided to go to 
Beachaven, where her people were, at the end of the 
month and play golf. Jerry wished to go too — he 
rather wanted to try his hand at golf again — so she 
wrote to the Grand Hotel and booked rooms. 

The Sutcliffe Park visit was not, however, coni' 
pletely devoid of incident. As has been said, the 
domestic arrangements at Queen’s Gate did not 
command the approval of either Mrs. Holroyd or 
Blanche. These ladies had not at first appreciated 
their real significance, but later the true state of affairs 
became more or less apparent to them. The present 
occasion seemed to Blanche to be an excellent one for 
placing things on a proper basis. She confided the 
first attack to her father. 

Lord Sutcliffe was a man who wasted few words in 
speech. He hated talking, and merely used the medium 
of words to convey the fact that he wanted something 
or to thank somebody for having got it for him. He 
undertook his present task in his characteristic manner. 
He suddenly looked up from his Times one morning 


84 BIIXY [CHAP. VII 

in the smoking-room when Jerry was there and said, 
“ Jerry, I want a grandson.” 

Jerry blinked his surprise. 

“ An advertisement in the Exchange and Mart," 
he began. 

The old man continued, “ Are you going to give 
me one ? ” 

" Some day, I expect,” said Jerry. 

“ I want to live to see it; I’m seventy.” 

“And I’m thirty — there’s plenty of time.” 

“ But your house; I hear it’s divided ” 

“ In two, yes,” said Jerry briskly ; “ but not against 
itself — that’s where it differs from ordinary matri- 
monial establishments. It’s all right, father, some day 
I’ll give you what you want. I can’t hurry the pace, 
I should spoil it all if I did.” 

Lord Sutcliffe resumed his reading with a half- 
satisfied grunt — it was something to know that “ Barkis 
was willing ” — he had rather feared that he wasn’t. 
Blanche did not view the result of her father’s interview 
in nearly so favourable a light. 

“ That’s all very well so far as he is concerned,” 
she said, “ but what about her ? ” 

“ That’s your affair,” said Lord Sutcliffe, with the 
nearest approach to a chuckle of which he was capable. 

Blanche accordingly tackled Billy the next day. 

“ How long are you and Jerry going to live this 
double doll’s house arrangement ? ” she asked. 

“ Till death do us part,” said Billy with solemn 
voice but laughing eyes. 

“ That’s nonsense. You’re man and wife, you’re 
part of each other, you’re one.” 

“Yes,” said Billy, “ the question is which one. 


CHAP, vn] BILIyY 85 

We haven’t decided that yet, we must keep up the 
barricades until then.” 

" Don’t be absurd, Billy, the point put bluntly is 
that we want an heir.” 

“ That may be,” replied Billy, “ but I don’t. If 
those are your views, you’d better do a bit of marrying 
yourself.” 

“You know perfectly well that it is to Jerry we 
must look ; he is the only person who can have an heir, 
and you must give him one.” 

Billy began to get irritated. 

“ Am I to have any say in the matter ? ” she asked. 
“ I think I might be allowed to run my own show.” 

“ It isn’t your own show, it’s our show ; you’re one 
of us now,” retorted Blanche, equally warmly, 

“ Well, I shall do as I like,” said Billy. 

“ This isn’t a case of what you like, it’s what you 
ought to do. It’s your duty.” 

Billy began to show signs of temper, as Blanche 
warmed to her favourite topic. 

“ We all have our different duties to perform,” she 
said, “ a man’s duty is to work for his living, and then 
for his wife’s and his children’s living ; a woman’s duty 
is to look after her father’s house till she’s married 
and her husband’s house afterwards, to give him chil- 
dren, and to bring them up as honest citizens. There’s 
no getting away from it, that’s her duty.” 

“ Oh, damn duty ! ” cried Billy ; “ I married Jerry 
for inclination, not duty.” 

And that emphatically closed the discussion. 

Billy was very glad to see Beachaven again, and 
Beachaven was very glad to see Billy. Jerry also found 
a modified welcome ; it is characteristic of Beachaven 


86 


BILLY 


[chap. VII 

that it does not forget faces — and certainly it would 
have had no excuse for doing so in J erry ’s case. J erry ’s 
cup of happiness, however, became quite full when 
he found his former golfing companion seated in the 
club house as if he had never left it. They promptly 
sallied forth to fight their battles over again and, as 
in each instance their golf had become even worse than 
formerly, they had excellent and almost interminable 
matches. 

The Holroyd family were again at Sunny Bank, 
and evinced their pleasure at seeing Billy according to 
their several natures — Mrs. Holroyd emotionally, 
Winnie excitedly, and Mr. Holroyd with substantial 
satisfaction. Sydney expressed his intention of search- 
ing the scriptures for a precedent in the treatment of 
prodigal daughters on their return and hinted that 
something lingering might be found with boiling oil 
in it. In the meantime he went out and played golf 
with her ; he had just taken up the game and showed 
signs of some day being distinctly good. Billy at 
first gave him a half and invariably beat him badly, 
but he persevered and finally she had to reduce the 
handicap and then play her best to hold her own with 
him. 

Occasionally she played with Jerry, but this she 
found very dull. Jerry, however, liked it, and Billy 
was a good-natured girl who was quite ready to do 
what people wanted her to— if it wasn’t something 
that she particularly didn’t want to do herself. So 
she played with Jerry, that is to say, she went round 
the course with him, holed out in fours and fives, and 
waited on the greens until he came up and sole mnl y 
holed out in anything over ten. A round with Jerry 


CHAP. VIl] 


BILLY 


87 

was a lengthy operation, partly because of the number 
of strokes which he took from tee to green, partly 
because he usually lost his ball on the way thither, 
and partly because they had to let all the stronger 
players of the club pass them. These latter used to 
come through with many a curious glance at the funny 
little man who had managed to acquire such a tall, 
handsome mate for his wife. 

Beachaven did not often see any very high-class 
play on its links, for the giants of the game rarely 
visited them. There was nobody belonging to the club 
behind the scratch mark, aftd the two or three members 
who had got that handicap would certainly not have 
been considered entitled to it on a more difficult course. 
It was therefore quite an occurrence when Frank 
Langton, plus four at Prestwick, came down to 
Beachaven for a few days and brought his golf clubs 
with him. He strolled into the club house with a view 
to becoming a temporary member, had a drink with 
the genial secretar}’’, and looked about for some one 
to show him the way round the course. Sydney 
Holroyd was the only member in the club at the time 
and, not being bashful by nature, he took the stranger 
on at once. 

Although he received a number of strokes and knew 
the course, whereas his opponent didn’t, Sydney, in 
his own language, “ never saw the way he went.” 
On their way round the links they came across Billy 
and her husband ; Jerry was ploughing up the land 
in his usual fashion, and Billy signalled to her brother 
to come through. He told her as he passed what a 
“ fearful swell ” his companion was, and Billy regarded 
the stranger with interest. He was a tall, fair man. 


88 


BILLY 


[CHAP. VII 

quite six feet in height, remarkably good looking, an 
admirable type of the athletic Englishman. He raised 
his cap to Billy in acknowledgment of her courtesy in 
letting him pass. She thought he looked an awfully 
good sort as he went striding by. He certainly knew 
how to play. She saw him walk up to his ball and 
regard it doubtfully ; it was in a hanging lie and cupped 
as well — an ideally execrable combination of circum- 
stances from the golfer’s point of view. He, however, 
did not hesitate long ; he took his brassy out of his 
bag — an ordinary player would have been content to 
have jabbed the ball out with an iron — and shortening 
his grip of the club struck turf and ball at the same 
time with a crisp downward blow. The ball seemed to 
leap away from the impact, straight and low it went, 
then kicked high in the air and dropped on to the green 
a hundred and fifty yards away. It was a magnificent 
shot played with consummate technical skill which 
only a golfer could appreciate. Billy would have 
given a lot to have been able to do it herself, and she 
couldn’t avoid showing her enthusiasm by exclaiming 
“ good shot.” Langton turned and smiled his apprecia- 
tion of her involuntary tribute. It is pleasant to be 
admired by attractive young women. 

Then Jerry came up, and he and Billy pursued their 
laborious way, laborious from his point of view because 
he had so much to do and from hers because she had 
so little. She caught an occasional glimpse of the 
stranger driving long swinging balls down the course ; 
he drove with a bit of a hook— perhaps the most 
artistic and certainly the most paying kind of ball to 
drive, when properly judged. She would have liked 
very much to change places with her brother. Jerry 


BILLY 


89 


CHAP. VIl] 

would have done quite well enough for him, and she 
would have immensely enjoyed a game with the tall, 
fair man — she thought he would have enjoyed it too 
from the way he had smiled. 

She, however, got no opportunity of playing with 
him, although she saw him from time to time during 
the next few days playing on the course. She began 
to take a great interest in him. He certainly was a 
superb golfer, and he also seemed to be rather a nice 
man. She questioned Sydney about him, but he 
only played with him on that one occasion, the 
short handicap men of the club having monopolized 
Langton’s attention since. Then he departed in a sort 
of golfing halo, as he had arrived, and Beachaven saw 
him no more. 

Towards the end of September, Billy proceeded upon 
a round of visits which she had promised to pay to 
various friends. Jerry remained on at Beachaven until 
about the middle of October, and then he returned to 
Town. He didn't notice Billy’s absence to any great 
extent while he still stayed at Beachaven, because his 
golf occupied him all day and made him sufficiently 
tired to want to sleep all night ; but when he got back 
to London he missed her horribly. It was then that 
he began to realize for the first time how much this 
attractive, young wife of his had entered into his life. 
It is true that they had only existed towards each other 
in the capacity of friends, that they were, indeed, two 
people quite independent of each other who happened 
to live in the same house. At least, that was the 
theory of the thing. But, when he found himself back 
in his London house without the enlivening companion- 
ship of Billy, he began to feel very dependent upon her 


90 


BILLY 


[chap. VII 


indeed. She seemed to have become a necessary part 
of his environment ; unfortunately, he could not lay 
the flattering unction to his soul that he had become 
part of hers. Well, that was surely his own fault ; he 
had never tried to become so, he had always kept 
himself aloof from her occupations — he had had many 
opportunities of sharing in them, but he had never 
taken advantage of them. 

He reflected upon the dinners to which they had 
both been invited and to which Billy had gone alone, 
the theatres to which she had gone with her friends 
when she might just as well have gone with him. That 
was running a theory to death ; there was no occasion 
to carry it as far as that. Moreover, that was not in 
the bond, but quite outside it ; he and Billy were 
excellent friends, and there was no point in their not 
' going about together. He reproached himself with his 
neglect in this respect ; after all, he owed it to Billy 
to be her companion ; companionship is one of the 
privileges of friends. Of course she had said nothing 
to him about it, he reflected ; she was too good natured 
for that, she probably didn’t like to reproach him 
because she may have thought that under the terms 
of their arrangement she was not entitled to ; but she 
must have found it rather awkward to be obliged to 
explain her husband’s absence from her side on so 
many occasions. 

Again, the time might come when he would desire 
their relations to become a little more intimate than 
they were at present. He began to feel that in his 
case that time might be shortly j he wondered what 
her views were on the subject. He felt that he had 
grown to care a great deal more for her than when he 


CHAP. Vll] 


BII,LY 


91 


married her. Did she care more for him ? Surely. 
Their constant companionship, even under existing con- 
ditions, must have resulted in that. He recalled his 
conversation with his father at Sutcliffe Park on the 
subject of an heir. That was, of course, quite outside 
the terms of his marriage contract with Billy. But it 
might be brought within them — by consent. Did he 
want that ? He hardly knew ; anyhow, as he had 
said, there was plenty of time for that. Still, he must 
make a beginning when his wife came back. He must 
see her more often, go about with her a bit. He was 
beginning to get fond of her. 

In the meantime he got thoroughly bored. He 
didn’t seem to be able to settle down to his usual 
occupations now that Billy was not in the house, which 
was curious, because each of them went their own way 
when she was. In despair he went out and bought 
some songs and tried to accompany himself on the 
piano in the drawing-room. That effort was a failure, 
for he found that he couldn’t play them. Then he had 
an inspiration. He bought a pianola and installed it 
in the library together with a motley assortment of 
songs and pieces. He practised assiduously at his new 
toy, and became quite proficient and almost cheerful. 

November was nearing its close before Billy returned 
home. She was in excellent spirits as she ran up the 
steps of the house. Jerry was in the hall to meet her. 

“ Hullo, Jerry ! ” she cried, “ this is an honour. I 
didn’t expect to see you till dinner-time, and perhaps 
not then.” 

Jerry stammered something or other unintelligible — 
he had intended to say something really nice, but it 
didn’t seefti to fit in with Billy’s greeting. 


92 


BILLY 


[chap. VII 

Dinner passed in a vivid narrative of Billy’s doings ; 
Jerry was quite content to sit and listen, and Billy 
loved to talk, so both were satisfied. After dinner 
Billy came into Jerry’s library, “by special request,’’ 
as she said. He was dressed in his ordinary dinner 
jacket, and had pumps on his feet and showed no 
inclination to change into his multi-coloured smoking 
jacket and carpet slippers. Billy lounged in an arm- 
chair regarding his comparatively tidy appearance with 
curiosity. 

“ Joseph,’’ she said, “ where is your coat of many 
colours ? ’’ 

Jerry blushed. 

“ Oh,’’ he replied, “ I’ve put that away — you — you 
said you didn’t like it.’’ 


CHAPTER VIII 


was rather disconcerted by Jerry’s answer. She 
didn’t quite know how to treat this sudden subservience 
to her almost unexpressed wishes, for, as a matter of 
fact, she had only once or twice ventured a passing 
opinion upon the now discarded smoking jacket, and 
it had neither been rtiade nor, apparently, taken 
seriously. She was puzzling over this when she caught 
sight of the pianola for the first time. 

“ What on earth’s that ? ” she asked. 

“ It’s a pianola. I got so awfully lonely without 
you that I ” 

“ Had to get a substitute,” she laughed. “ Well, I 
hope it's got more music in it than I have.” 

She recurred to his first remark. 

“ Were you really lonely without me, Jerry ? That 
was awfully nice of you. And yet I don’t see why 
you should have been, for we each exist separately.” 

” I think one gets tired of a separate existence after 
one’s marriage.” 

Billy rather opened her eyes at this. 

“Hullo!” she said; “what about our beautiful 
theories of independence ? ” 

“ Beautiful theories only remain beautiful whilst 
they remain theories.” 

“ Epigram ! ” said Billy ; “ the first one I’ve ever 
heard you make. Prepare me next time.” 

93 


94 


BILLY 


[CHAP. VIII 


“ Don’t you agree with me ? ” 

“ I decline to be subtle,” replied Billy ; " let’s hear 
your old tinkler.” 

“ Shall I — sing ? ” he asked. 

“ Rather ! ” she answered. 

She walked up to the instrument and patted its 
wooden frame. 

“ How do you do, Mrs. D’Arcy,” she said. 

She turned to J erry. 

“ What are you going to sing ? ” she asked. 

” I’ve been practising ‘ The Devout Lover,’ ” he 
replied. 

He proceeded to sing it. His voice quivered with 
nervousness when he started, but that wore off as he 
warmed to his work. It was not a performance to 
boast of from the musical point of view, for the pianola 
was a very inefficient substitute for Mrs. D’Arcy, added 
to which Jerry’s control of it was by no means perfect. 
Billy, as has been stated, had no ear for music, but 
she listened attentively. She was beginning to find 
this little husband of hers very interesting. This was 
indeed a new development on his part. She was not 
sure that she would find it a welcome one, but, for the 
moment, the novelty pleased. 

“ Bravo ! ” she cried, when he had finished ; “ that’s 
splendid. How do you work the old thing ? Show me.” 

He did so, with the gusto of a mother exhibiting 
her first-born. 

Billy sat down at the pianola and produced weird 
noises — she didn’t know they were weird j to her un- 
sympathetic ear all music was noise more or less, 
according to whether you had the loud pedal down 
or not. 


CHAP. VIIl] 


BILI.Y 


95 


“ It seems easy enough,” she said, after having 
wrung a more than usually frantic shriek from the 
tortured instrument. 

“ Oh, it’s all right when you get used to it,” said 
Jerry. 

They passed quite a pleasant evening together, only 
Billy wanted to play and Jerry wanted to sing; so 
they compromised, and she played his accompaniments, 
completely drowning his contributions to the evening’s 
entertainment. 

“ You don’t need to be quiU so energetic,” ventured 
Jerry mildly, as his athletic wife worked away at 
what she called “ the air pump apparatus ” with 
both feet. 

“ It’s splendid practice for biking,” she replied, 
“ and it don’t seem to do it any harm ; its lungs are 
apparently all right.” 

The unhappy instrument was absolutely full of 
air — it had certainly never been submitted to such 
violent treatment in the course of its existence ; 
Jerry had never passed such a noisy evening in his 
life. 

The next morning Billy came down to breakfast at 
eight as usual. To her surprise she found Jerry there 
as well. 

“ Aren’t you well ? ” she asked. 

“ Perfectly,” he replied, ” and as hungry as a 
hunter.” 

“I’ve often wondered why hunters are hungry,” 
said Billy ; “I suppose it is because they don’t catch 
anything.” 

She seated herself at the table and began her 
breakfast. It was the first meal of this kind that she 


BII,LY 


[CHAP. VIII 


96 


remembered taking with her husband — and they had 
been married over a year. 

“ What’s the programme for the morning ? ” asked 
Jerry. 

“ I’m going shopping, Harrod’s and Peter Robin- 
son’s, and that sort of thing.” 

“ I’ll come too, if you don’t mind.” 

“ Do,” said Billy ; “ but I expect you will — I’m 
going to buy all sorts of improper things ; still, I’ve no 
doubt your opinion will be most helpful.” 

They set out together. She didn’t particularly want 
him, but she didn’t object to his society, although she 
was distinctly puzzled at being honoured with it. It 
was such a completely new departure for Jerry. She 
seemed to have come back to quite a different husband 
to the one she had left behind her at Beachaven. She 
was not sure that the change was an improvement. 
As the morning advanced she came to the conclusion 
that it was not. 

Her purchases were chiefly concerned with articles 
of feminine apparel. On these occasions she left Jerry 
outside the shop, and found him patiently waiting for 
her upon her return. The sight of her be-spectacled, 
sandy-haired, little husband peering into the shop 
windows of the establishments she entered, or waiting 
outside the doors when she left, amused her for a 
time, but after a bit she got tired of it. She felt 
that he was occupying the position of the pet poodle 
that one leaves in charge of the stalwart official 
outside the premises. She found herself instinctively 
looking for a chain. She tried to get rid of him. 

“ My dear Jerry,” she said, " you must be quite fed 
up with this, trot off whenever you like.” 


BILI.Y 


97 


CHAP. VIIl] 

“ I’m all right,” he replied cheerfully, “ I like it.” 

That settled the matter, for she could hardly tell 
him that she didn’t. She had him with her for prac- 
tically the rest of the day. In the evening the pianola 
was made to go through its paces again. Jerry sang 
louder on this occasion — he had more confidence, and 
Billy played softer — she wasn’t quite so keen. 

The next day Billy found Jerry at breakfast again. 

“ This is going to become a habit then ? ” she said. 

" Rather ! ” he replied, “ don’t you approve of 
it? ” 

She could hardly inveigh against early rismg since 
she herself was addicted to it, and of course she had 
no objection to having her breakfast in his company, 
but it puzzled her, Jerry, however, had apparently 
determined to be a great deal more than a mere break- 
fast companion. After breakfast he came into her 
boudoir, where she was writing letters. She looked up 
rather impatiently — this was most irregular and quite 
outside the domestic arrangements, 

“ Not disturbing you, am I ? ” he inquired nervously. 

“ Not a bit,” replied Billy, rather brusquely, “ only 
don’t talk please, I’m busy — answering invitations and 
things.” 

“ Am I in any of them ? ” he inquired, after a 
pause. 

“ Oh mostly,” she answered, without looking up, 
“ but of course nobody expects you to go. I’ve even 
left off making excuses for you now ; I simply say I 
shall be charmed, and let it go at that,” 

Jerry fidgeted uneasily on his chair. 

“ I think I should like to go to some of ’em too,” 
he said. 

H 


98 


BILLY 


[chap. VIII 

Billy dropped her pen from sheer surprise. 

“ What’s the matter with you, Jerry ? ” she asked. 
“ I’ve never seen you like this before.” 

“ Well, I’m beginning to think that I’ve got rather 
a good specimen of a wife,” he replied. 

“ Crummy ! ” said Billy. “I’m not a fossil 
yet ! ” 

She accepted such invitations as she was engaged 
upon on behalf of herself and Jerry. She was quite 
pleased that he should go out with her if he wished to ; 
his habit of not doing so was, after all, not particu- 
larly desirable from her own point of view. A woman 
requires an escort to make her complete, even if it is 
a somewhat diminutive one — that is, of course, the 
justification for the existence of the King Charles’ 
terrier. 

So Jerry began to go out with his wife and the 
world was mildly surprised at first, and then became 
as accustomed to the presence of his quaint little figure 
in their dining-rooms and drawing-rooms as they had 
formerly been to its absence. It made no difference to 
Billy ; her husband didn’t take her in to dinner, and he 
didn’t take up much room in the car on their way 
home. Billy enjoyed herself quite independently of him, 
and, if it gave him any satisfaction to see her doing so, 
she was sufficiently amiably disposed not to object. 
vShe was surprised at his having taken to this new form 
of enjoyment, however, and at his continuing it, but 
she was quite startled when he volunteered to accom- 
pany her to a dance. 

“ My word, Jerry 1 ” she said, “ 3mu are going it. 
I didn’t know you could dance.- You sat out with me 
at the onlj" dance I ever saw 3^ou at.” 


CHAP, viii] BIIvI^Y 99 

“ Oh, I can dance all right, after a fashion ; Blanche 
used to teach me — she said it was her duty.” 

Billy rather wished that her sister-in-law had not 
been quite so conscientious. However, there seemed 
to be no help for it, and probably Jerry would be tired 
to death before he got home and not want to go 
dancing again. As a matter of fact, Jerry enjoyed 
himself enormously, which was rather more than his 
partners did. It is quite true that he could dance 
” after a fashion,” but it was a fashion which required 
plenty of elbow room — and that is a condition of things 
which seldom obtains in Bondon ball-rooms. Jerry was 
much too short-sighted to see how to steer property, 
and much too puny to be able to do so in any case 
with the athletically constructed cargoes of which he 
placed himself in charge. His dance usually ended 
after a couple of rounds of the room with his sitting 
out with an indignant and somewhat battered partner — 
he was never battered, he was too small and was 
effaced and shielded by his companion. 

The marriage of Jerry had certainty produced a 
most extraordinary effect upon the little man so far 
as his relations with women were concerned. Formerly 
he had been afraid of them, tongue-tied in their presence, 
and fleeing from them at the earliest opportunity. But 
his growing familiarity with one of the sex had appa- 
rently delivered him from his fears with regard to the 
whole of it. Billy had, in fact, unconsciously emanci- 
pated him — Mrs. D’Arcy had also, perhaps, had a share 
in the change. Unfortunately, his emancipation didn’t 
make him look less absurd ; if anything, it made him 
appear more so. 

Although he did not dance for long at a time, he 


100 


BILLY 


[chap. VIII 

certainly created a sensation while he did so. People 
turned round to look at the queer little being who 
scampered round the room and conveyed the impres- 
sion of being an educated rabbit with an ear for music. 
But the effect was mild compared to that produced 
when the time came for him to dance with Billy. He 
had some difficulty in finding her — she took very good 
care of that, but he did find her, and'^she went into 
the ball-room on his arm feeling that every one must be 
looking at them — as, indeed, they shortly were. 

She had been dreading this dance all the evening. 
She had watched her husband performing with his 
partners, so she had some idea of what was in store 
for her. She couldn’t help noticing the amusement he 
caused, and it made her angry, not on his account, but 
on her own. Billy hated being laughed at ; like most 
people who can see a joke and make one, she didn’t 
care about being the subject of it. Jerry was making 
her feel very annoyed this evening, for he was making 
himself look ridiculous, and her — that was where it 
smarted. At dinner parties or theatres his absurd 
appearance didn’t matter and his antics were neces- 
sarily kept in check ; but here at a dance amongst her 
friends, she was being made to look a fool. The worst 
of it was she felt that Jerry was quite within his rights ; 
this was no breach of the contract, she couldn’t expect 
him to change his face. 

And here she was in the crowded ball-room, five 
foot ten looking down on five foot nothing — at any rate, 
he seemed five foot nothing then, perhaps less. She 
had never felt so tall, and he had never appeared so 
short. It seemed ridiculous to expect him to get his 
arm round her waist. She made an effort to induce 


CHAP. VIIl] 




loi 


him to sit out on the plea that she was tired, but he 
wasn’t to be put off that way. 

“ My dear girl,” he said, “ this is what I came 
for.” 

They began to waltz, and Billy very soon saw that 
she would have to take matters exclusively into her 
own control, for Jerry was perfectly incapable of doing 
anything in the steering line. Billy was a capable 
dancer, perhaps too energetic to be exactly graceful, 
but, nevertheless, possessing that grace which is the 
natural attribute of the physically perfect body. She 
whirled her little husband round the room — it was half 
temper, half exercise — she didn’t want to talk to him, 
and she effectually prevented him talking to her by 
completely depriving him of his breath. So things 
progressed for two or three rounds of the room, and then 
Billy felt herself grow scarlet, for she discovered that 
her dance wdth her husband w'as evidently the event 
of the evening ; the steering became easier, for couples 
left off dancing to watch ; Billy ceased looking where 
she was going, fascinated by watching those who were 
watching her. A great wave of anger ran through her 
that she should be made a laughing-stock in this way, 
and she danced on, vowing in her heart that nothing 
should induce her to stop this dance with her husband 
until it was over, and that nothing should ever induce 
her to dance with him again. And then the catastrophe 
happened — she tripped over Jerry or Jerry tripped over 
her, and down he went, and she sat on him — and the 
room laughed. How could they help it ? 

Billy raged, but she did so internally ; externally she 
appeared to consider the incident as amusing as those 
who witnessed it. She even refrained from expressing 


102 


BILLY 


[chap. VIII 

her sentiments in the car on their way home, although 
Jerry gave her the opportunity by apologizing. 

“ I say, Billy,” he remarked, “ I feel most awfully 
sorry for having pulled you down like that.” 

” It was entirely my own clumsy fault,” she replied, 
“ I forgot you were there.” 

She spoke crossly, for she was still slightly out of 
temper. Ill humour was, however, a very evanescent 
quality with Billy, and by the time they reached the 
house she was her normal self again. They went into 
the library for a few moments before going upstairs — 
the servants had all gone to bed long ago. 

“ It wasn’t bad fun, after all, was it, Jerry ? ” said 
Billy cheerily, helping herself to some soda water by 
way of a ” nightcap ” ; ” and I’m sure that you and 
I added to the gaiety of nations, so that’s to our credit 
anyway.” 

Jerry smiled rather feebly. 

“Yes,” he said, " as a mirth-provoking effort our 
dance was a decided success. I think it’s too good to 
repeat, however. It mightn’t go off so well next time.” 

Billy poured him out a brandy and soda. 

“ Drink,” she said, “ and be merry, for to-morrow 
you shall dance with me again. Oh yes, you shall,” 
she continued, " down here. We’ll dodge the chairs 
for practice, and Thompson shall perform upon the 
pianola.” 

Jerry shook his head despondently, and Billy picked 
up her cloak, which had fallen on to the floor. 

“ Very well,” she said, “ if you won’t laugh when 
I’m trying to be bright and witty I shall go to bed— 
oh, it’s no use your saying you didn’t know I 
trying to be, you should have guessed.” 


was 


BILLY 


103 


CHAP. VIIl] 

Jerry got up to open the door for her. These little 
acts of politeness of his were quite recent and, from 
Billy’s point of view, rather oppressive. 

“ Don’t worry, old chap,” she said, and then noticed 
that Jerry was limping. 

“ Hullo ! ” she cried ; “ what’s up ? ” 

“ Oh, nothing much,” he replied ; “ but I barked 
my shin a bit when I came down.” 

“ Heel of my shoe, I expect,” said Billy. " I know 
I kicked you like blazes. You poor old dear ! Go 
right up to by-by, and I’ll come to your room and 
bandage you with something warm.” 

She wouldn’t listen to his protests, but bundled him 
off. 

“ Get right into bed,” she said, “ and shout out 
when you’re ready.” 

Billy had very vague ideas as to first aid, but she 
armed herself with some lint, a work-basket, a bottle of 
Elliman’s and a kettle of boiling water, and, thus 
equipped, proceeded to her husband’s room. She 
kicked at the door, her hands being completely engaged ; 
as a matter of fact, she had been obliged to put the 
bottle of Elliman’s in the work-basket, into which it 
leaked with rather disastrous effect. 

“ Come in,” shouted Jerry. 

“ This is most improper,” said Billy, as she entered, 
“ but it shan’t occur again.” 

Then she saw Jerry. 

He was sitting on the edge of the bed attired in 
his wonderful pyjamas. It was the first time that she 
had seen him thus arrayed, and his quaint appearance 
was too much for her sense of humour. It caused her 
to do, perhaps, the most heartless thing of her life, for 


104 


BILLY 


[chap. VIII 


she leant against the wall and laughed until the tears 
ran down her cheeks, and some of the water from the 
kettle ran on to her foot. 

That stopped her mirth. 

Then she bandaged his leg. 


CHAPTER IX 


Bii,ly concluded the recital of her troubles. 

“ I see him at breakfast, lunch and tea,” she said. 
" If I go shopping he comes too; he’s taken to calling 
with me even, and he’s become quite brilliant at hand- 
ing tea-cake, and when he’s not dining out with me 
he sings love songs to me with pianola accompaniment 
in the library.” 

She paused for breath. 

“You seem to have discovered the perfect husband,” 
said Jim. 

He had been dining with Billy and J erry en famille, 
and after dinner she had insisted on dragging Jim up 
to her own part of the house and consigning Jerry to 
his library. 

“ Perfect husband ! ” echoed Billy scornfully. 
“ Listen to him ! ” 

The somewhat asthmatic effects of the pianola — 
Billy’s misdirected pedal efforts had rendered it asth- 
matic — stole upon their ears, although Billy’s boudoir 
was a floor above and some way removed from the 
library. 

Jim fidgeted in his seat. He was anxious about 
Billy. She was in an irritable mood to-night, and 
irritable moods weren’t natural to her — at any rate, in 
his experience. 

105 


io6 BILLY [chap. IX 

" I thought you said he was — er — ‘ great fun,’ ” he 
remarked. 

“So he was. I’m not complaining of Jerry as a 
joke, but as a husband. The fact of the matter is, 
Jim, I made a mistake when I married him.’’ 

“ Billy ! ’’ 

“ Oh yes, Jim, it’s so. People usually marry be- 
cause they want to see a lot of each other, and then 
they find that they’ve got to take other people’s 
husbands and wives into dinner and can only catch 
glimpses of each other at opposite ends of the table. 
That’s rotten for them, but I thought that it would 
just suit Jerry and me. I reckoned that we might 
bore each other a little , but that would be all to the 
good, for then we should be quite glad to be at opposite 
ends of the table. But it hasn’t worked a bit, because, 
you see, I don’t love Jerry — it’s only he that loves me.’’ 

Jim rose to his feet and flung his half-finished 
cigarette into the grate. It was emblematic of the 
temptation he was casting from him at the same time. 

Then he turned to Billy, this girl whom he loved 
and whom his love could never have bored — he felt 
sure of that. 

“ You’re an ass, Billy,’’ he said, “ and the sooner 
you realize it the better ; what is more, you’re a selfish 
ass and not half good enough for the man you married.’’ 

Billy laughed. 

" Maybe,’’ she said. " I certainly ought not to 
have married Jerry. I thought I would marry some 
one I could keep in order. It might have been better 
if I had married some one who would have kept me 
in order — you, for instance. You’d have done it with 
a nice, thick stick, wouldn’t you, Jim ? There ! I’m 


CHAP. IX] 


BIIyLY 


107 


all right now, temper gone. You’re a splendid tonic. 
Let’s go downstairs and talk to Jerry — after all, he’s 
not a bad sort.” 

For the rest of the evening Billy laid herself out to 
please — a thing she was quite capable of succeeding in 
if she liked. Jerry was in raptures with his handsome 
wife, and sang and enjoyed himself immensely, while 
Jim sat and smoked and watched the strangely assorted 
pair. 

It was late when he took his leave. Billy saw him 
to the door. 

" You’re a dear old thing, Jim,” she said to him, 
as she helped him on with his coat. “ That dressing 
down you gave me did me a lot of good,” 

“ I want you to be happy,” he said. 

He was standing on the steps and she by the open 
door, and the light from the hall threw her face into 
high relief against the darkness. To the man standing 
in the shadow she appeared like some fair, young 
goddess. Then she shut the door. 

The “ dressing down ” may have done Billy some 
temporary good, but it certainly did not effect any 
permanent cure, Jerry’s attentions continued as con- 
stant and trying as ever. He would, of course, 
have discontinued them had he perceived their effect 
upon his wife, but love is proverbially blind, and J erry 
was short-sighted as well. Moreover, Billy could hardly 
enlighten him ; the only thing that she could do was 
to attempt to divert his attention to something else. 

“You want an occupation, Jerry,” she said to him 
one day. 

“ Well,” he replied, “ I married you ; that’s occu- 
pation enough.” 


io8 BILLY [CHAP. IX 

“ Nonsense ! ” she retorted, " ' men must work,’ ” 
she quoted vaguely. 

“ Oh yes, I know,” he continued, “ ‘ and women 
must weep.’ When you begin doing that I’ll begin 
doing the other.” 

“ Couldn’t you get a directorship or something ? ” 
she suggested desperately. 

“ I can’t even direct a letter without smudging it,” 
he replied complacently, and there was nothing more 
to be said ; so they went out together as usual. 

“ Quite a devoted couple they’ll think us, won’t 
they ? ” Billy had subsequently remarked. 

“ Well, we are, aren’t we ? ” he queried. 

Billy hardly knew how to answer this. It didn’t 
seem quite to fit in with the terms of the contract, 
but it wasn’t exactly barred. 

She ran down to the golf club at Sheen Park as 
often -as the weather permitted, but this was com- 
paratively seldom. Sheen Park, like most golf clubs, 
was a “ cock and hen ” club, that is to say, its members 
were of the sexes to which those fowls respectively 
belong. As a matter of fact, it consisted of two clubs — 
a men’s club and a ladies’ club — but their premises 
adjoined, and one or two of the larger rooms they 
shared in common. Bilty congratulated herself upon 
the fact that Jerry’s enthusiasm for the game had not 
been sufficiently aroused to make him join the club. 
There, at any rate, she was free from him. It was a 
very good course of its order, but it had the disadvan- 
tages of a clay soil and trees, which made playing upon 
it a very muddy form of exercise in winter, and only 
its most enthusiastic members were found prepared to 
play under those conditions. Mabel Cartright was one 


BILIyY 


CKAP. IX] 


109 


of these, and she and Billy journeyed down to Rich- 
mond (the nearest station) on these occasions, but 
either Mabel’s zeal was not equal to Billy’s or her 
necessity was not so great, for Billy finally found 
herself faced with the alternative of muddy, solitary 
golf or Jerry. She resigned herself to Jerry — he was 
cleaner. 

One day she confided her woes to Mrs. Mervyn — 
she was having tea at her flat, and J erry, for once, was 
not with her. 

Mrs. Mervyn sipped her tea meditatively. 

“It’s a curious complaint,” she said, “I don’t ever 
remember having heard of it before. Most wives 
grumble that their husbands don’t love them, not that 
they do.” 

“ It’s most embarrassing,” said Billy. 

She related how she had tried to keep out of J erry’s 
way. 

“ I’ve played golf,” she said, “ as long as I could 
stand it or get any one else to, but in this weather no 
one will turn out.” 

Mrs. Mervyn put down her cup with decision. 

“You must ride in the Row then.” 

“ It’s so beastly in the rain.” 

“ That doesn’t matter. It won’t do you any harm 
— you have to change anyway. Moreover, I don’t 
suppose you need do it for very long — just keep it up 
until your husband has found something else to do 
besides admire you. He used to spend his time 
differently, didn’t he ? ” 

“ Rather ! ” laughed Billy ; “ he used to go to his 
club.” 

“ Well, perhaps he will again if he has nothing 


[chap. IX 


no BILLY 

else to do. Anyhow, that is the only plan I can 
think of.” 

“ It’s worth trying,” said Billy. 

The arrival of a visitor prevented further con- 
fidences. Billy learnt that her name was Lady 
Fairborough, and she regarded her with some interest, 
for she had never seen her before. 

Lady Fairborough was quite young and remarkably 
pretty, with appealing, kittenish eyes which seemed 
to have a perpetual question in them, and a delicately 
rounded little figure. She was as dainty as a piece of 
Dresden china and apparently as fragile, obviously a 
woman unfitted for the strenuousness of existence, and 
seemingly one who had always floated upon the calms 
of life untroubled by disturbing currents — but strangely 
silent. This reserve of Lady Fairborough struck Billy 
as being rather curious. Somehow it didn’t seem quite 
natural, because she who was so silent appeared to 
be designed by nature to laugh and chatter. She 
was very nice though. Billy liked her. Lady 
Fairborough didn’t stop long. Billy was sorry, 
because she would have liked to know her better, 
and, indeed, the mere sight of the little woman 
gave her pleasure — Billy liked to look at pretty 
things. Mrs. Mervyn made no attempt to restrain 
her guest going, rather to Billy’s surprise. She 
turned to Billy to explain as the door shut behind 
Lady Fairborough. 

“ Poor dear,” she said, ” it would have been unkind 
to keep her ; she was frightened of you.” 

“ Dear me ! ” laughed Billy, ” am I as terrible as 
all that ? I liked her awfully ; I thought she was 
charming, though very quiet.” 


CHAP, ix] BII/IvY III 

“ She was the liveliest woman in London a couple 
of years ago — she was a Mrs. Granger then.” 

“ Mrs. Granger ? ” repeated Billy, puzzled, for 
the name seemed familiar to her. Then she stiffened 
involuntarily. “ Wasn’t Mrs. Granger — divorced ? ” 
she asked. 

“ Quite ; don’t you remember the case ? Fair- 
borough was the co-respondent, you know.” 

“ And then Lord Fairborough married her ? ” 

“ Yes, as soon as the decree was made absolute.” 

“ But ” Billy paused confused, an unusual 

emotion for her. She had been about to ask how it 
was that the divorcee was on calling terms with Mrs. 
Mervyn, but an unaccustomed discretion restrained 
her tongue. Mrs. Mervyn, however, guessed her 
unspoken thought. 

“ You’re surprised that she should come here — 
under the circumstances ? ” she said ; “ poor Madge, 
she’s finding her way back.” 

“ Finding her way back ? I thought you — 
couldn’t.” 

“ Some people can’t, most people don’t, but a few 
people do. Of course, it’s always a difficult road, hard 
and steep, and I don’t think things are ever quite the 
same again; still ” 

“ Still there is a way back, provided you can get 
a sufficiently good pilot ? ” put in Billy. “ I’m not 
emotional, but I should like to kiss you,” she added ; 
” I think you’re a brick. You lead and others follow.” 

“ Well, Madge Granger is a very old friend of mine, 
and so is Fairborough, the man she ought to have 
married but didn’t. Her married life was a regular 
tragedy — her husband drank, and — well, there was 


II2 


BIIvLY 


[chap. IX 


just one way out and she took it. Of course it was very 
wrong and all that, but Fairborough married her, took 
her away for about a year and now — there is an 
opportunity for people to forget that Lady Fairborough 
and Mrs. Granger are one and the same person. I’m 
not pretending that she can ever quite find herself 
again, there will always be some people who will not 
be able to forget, or rather, who will insist on remember- 
ing ; then, her presentation was cancelled and that 
is always rather a nasty knock, but I,ondon is a 
city of many circles, and they are not concentric 
ones.” 

Billy stared into the fire without speaking. Mrs. 
Mervyn was appearing to her in a new light. Hitherto 
she had regarded her as a very charming acquaintance 
whom it was both desirable and pleasant to know, 
but now she was figuring as something more. It was 
rather a noble thing that she was doing, this piece of 
salvage work ; there is no difficulty in finding somebody 
willing to cast the first stone, but it is quite another 
matter to find any one ready to alleviate the suffering 
of her at whom it is cast — and Mrs. Mervyn had a 
reputation to lose. She was using it to cover her friend 
as the kind-hearted wayfarer might use his cloak to 
cover a shivering child. Of course, she could afford 
to do it, but how many people’s actions are measured 
by their resources ? She was one of the few women, 
too, who could not only afford to give their assistance, 
but whose help would be effective, for people would 
follow Mrs. Mervyn’s lead — in time, slowly, shyly, 
unwilling to commit themselves, but still more un- 
willing to lose any credit for a good action which some- 
body else had taken the risk of initiating and which 


BILI.Y 


CHAP. IX] 


II3 


was apparently destined to turn out profitable. We 
are all dividend hunters. 

Presently Billy rose to go. 

“ Good-bye, you dear Pilot,” she said ; “ please 
enrol me amongst the crew.” 

“ That’s dear of you, Billy,” replied Mrs. Mervyn ; 
“ I want all the help I can get.” 

Billy proceeded to put Mrs. Mervyn’s plan into 
operation, and every morning, when it wasn’t absolutely 
pouring, saw her in the Park. It was certainly rather 
awful in the rain, but the exercise was stimulating, and 
it wasn’t always wet. When it was fine, she some- 
times came across Tady Fairborough, also riding. 
She had struck up a warm friendship with the pretty 
little woman, and their morning rides did much to 
increase and cement it. They were a striking contrast 
on their horses — Tady Fairborough was a graceful rider 
though not a particularly good one, and Billy was a 
good rider, but not a particularly graceful one. Billy 
was rather an aggressively long-legged young person 
on a horse, and somewhat angular in the management 
of her elbows ; she was so perfectly confident of remain- 
ing on her mount that she was careless how she sat it. 
Tady Fairborough, on the contrary, sat her mount 
and did nothing else. 

Billy began to congratulate herself upon the success 
of her tactics. She had certainly found a way of escape 
from her troublesome husband. He attempted a mild 
remonstrance at her daily rides in all sorts of weather, 
but Billy promptly brushed it aside, saying that she 
must have exercise. After which he apparently 
reconciled himself to the loss of her company during 
the morning, though he still availed himself of it at 

I 




[CHAP. IX 


II4 

breakfast, and even lunch. Billy was curious to know 
how he occupied himself during the morning, and she 
asked him once or twice what he had been doing, but 
she found him strangely evasive. 

Thus the time passed away pleasantly enough until 
wet days gave place to fine ones, the air became per- 
meated with the freshness of spring, buds began to 
appear on the trees of the Park, and the increasing 
numbers of people hovering by the green chairs and 
sometimes venturing to sit upon them in spite of the 
east wind, proclaimed the approach of the London 
season. 

Billy’s rides with Lady Fairborough became a 
matter of daily practice, with occasional intervals for 
golf. The rehabilitation of Lady Fairborough had 
proceeded almost more rapidly than could have been 
expected. This was, of course, chiefly due to Mrs. 
Mervyn, but Billy was able to take a certain amount 
of credit to herself in the matter as well, for she had 
ably seconded Mrs. Mervyn’s efforts. Lady Fair- 
borough was speedily recovering her former spright- 
liness and Billy found her to be a delightful companion. 
She liked these morning rides immensely, and regularly 
looked forward to them. She chuckled as she turned 
her horse homewards — she had certainly found an 
excellent alternative to Jerrj*. What a lucky thing 
it was that here, at any rate, she possessed a refuge 
whither he could not follow her ! She didn’t dislike 
him, but a little of his society went a long way ; he 
tended to bore her, and Billy hated being bored. She 
felt that if she had not managed to escape from his 
assiduous attentions she would have grown actually 
to dislike him. As it was, she could put up with him 


CHAP. IX] 


BIIJvY 


115 

very well ; after all, one must take the rough with the 
smooth. As a matter of fact, she hadn’t much to 
complain of, she admitted to herself, and she really 
had no right to quarrel with Jerry because he liked 
her society better than she liked his. She lingered in 
the hall for a moment preparatory to going upstairs 
to change for lunch, and, as she did so, Jerry’s latchkey 
turned in the door and he came into the house. Billy 
turned to greet him. 

“ Hullo ! ” she cried, and then she stopped — Jerry 
was resplendently attired in a hunting stock, shepherd’s 
plaid riding breeches of a violent pattern, and riding 
boots which made his legs look like a pair of lead 
pencils ; he carried a truculent-looking hunting-crop in 
his hand, and a bowler hat on his head at a knowing 
angle. 

“ What on earth have you been doing ? ” she 
gasped. 

Jerry fingered his moustache complacently. “ I’ve 
been taking riding lessons,” he said. 


CHAPTER X 


Bili,y met him at her golf club. 

“ Billy, let me introduce Mr. Langton to you,” 
said Mabel Cartright ; “ he’s my cousin.” 

Billy looked up and found herself face to face with 
the good-looking stranger she had seen playing golf 
at Beachaven the year before. 

The recognition was mutual. 

“ You don’t mean to say that you know each other ! ” 
cried Mabel. 

“ Well — almost,” said Billy. “ You’re the man I 
saw hitting such clinking long balls last year at 
Beachaven, aren’t you ? ” she added, turning to him. 

“ And you’re the girl who I saw making some pretty 
useful pushes as well,” he replied, laughing. 

They were friends at once, both of them so similar 
in characteristics, with their long, athletic frames and 
their frank, slangy conversation. As Billy said — 
” there were no frills on her,” — and she certainly 
found none on him. 

It was a fine afternoon in May and the Sheen Park 
Golf Einks were beginning to look almost summery. 
Billy had again taken refuge in golf, for the idea of 
riding with Jerry in the Row did not appeal to her. 
She had done so on one occasion, but it was not an 
experience that she wished to repeat in a hurry. Jerry, 
imperfectly seated upon his horse and clad in what she 

ii6 


CHAP. X] 




I17 

termed his " ossy clothes,” made her feel as if she was 
a circus lady being accompanied round the ring 
by the clown — an impression which also seemed to 
prevail amongst the occupants of the chairs and the 
loungers by the rails. It was like that dance, only 
worse. 

She had regretted giving up her morning rides very 
much, and Jerry was, needless to say, greatly dis- 
appointed. The weather, however, was now behaving 
itself with beautiful propriety, and golf under those 
conditions approached to the ideal at Sheen Park, 
so that Billy felt that her fate was not so very hard 
after all. Her meeting with Tangton was a great 
surprise to her. 

“ I didn’t know you were a member of the club,” 
she said. 

“ I’m not,” he answered ; “ I’m merely a visitor. 
I’m thinking of joining, though, because I’ve just 
taken a studio at Kensington and this place is awfully 
handy from there. I’m an artist, you know,” he added 
parenthetically. 

Billy looked at him with increased interest. 

“ You don’t look a bit like an artist,” she said 
critically. 

“ How ought an artist to look ? ” he inquired. 

“You ought to have a beard and wear a flabby 
sort of tie with a ring through it and — and you ought 
to look a bit flabby yourself.” 

He laughed, and his cheerful white teeth excused 
the lack of repartee ; Bangton was not brilliant — 
he was too healthy. 

They strolled down to the tee where Mabel and 
her partner were waiting — Billy was partnered with 


BILLY 


ii8 


[chap. X 


Langton. Mabel had managed that — “ I prefer to 
play with other people’s cousins,” she had said. 

Billy and Langton had to give their opponents a 
good many strokes on handicap and, under ordinary 
circumstances, would even then have beaten them fairly 
easily. In this particular instance, however, they 
were hard put to it to hold their own, for Langton 
was unable to show his true form owing to his not 
knowing the course. Thus it happened that they were 
“ all square ” at the seventeenth hole and the match 
depended upon which side should win the eighteenth. 
Mabel and her partner were receiving a stroke at this 
hole, so that their chances seemed rosy, especially so 
when Langton, whose drive it was, hooked his ball 
badly on to the bank, of a half -brook half-ditch with 
an overhanging bramble bush between it and the green. 

Mabel walked up her partner’s much shorter but 
also* much straighter drive, and, stimulated by the 
knowledge of her opponents’ misfortunes, " ap- 
proached ” neatly and accurately on to the green. 

Billy went to her ball and contemplated it sadly. 
It was lying on mud just clear of the brook, which 
gurgled past it. It seemed a fairly hopeless position. 
Langton came and had a look at it. 

“You can’t play that,” he said ; “ pick it out.” 

“ And lose a stroke and all chance of the match ! ” 
cried Billy indignantly ; “ not much ! I’ll have a bang 
at it, anyway.” 

And she did. 

It wasn’t exactly an elegant position that she 
assumed and it couldn’t have been a comfortable one. 
She had one foot on the bank in soft mud and the other 
in three inches of water. Moreover, the overhanging 


BILIvY 


CHAP. X] 


II9 


bramble twigs kept on getting entangled with the 
tam-o’-shanter she was wearing. She wasn’t thinking 
of comfort, however. She had got her eye on a gap 
in the hedge in front; the odds were enormously 
against it, but if by any chance she could get her ball 
through it, the hole might be saved yet. She took 
her niblick and struck with all her strength, and the 
one in a hundred chance came off ; the ball leapt up 
midst a splutter of mud and water, and, as if seeking 
to avoid a repetition of such an uncomfortable experi- 
ence, flew through the opening and landed on the edge 
of the green. Billy’s club followed through into the 
bramble bush with the impetus of the stroke, and the 
twigs sprang back and lashed her viciously in the face. 
She didn’t notice the smart, however, nor that some 
of the flying rubble had struck her mouth and made 
her tooth bleed, and she ignored the fact that one of 
her eyes was bunged up with mud and water. She 
sprang out of the ditch excitedly. 

“ Hurroo ! ” she cried ; “ victory or Westminster 
Abbey 1 ” 

Langton came up to her, very concerned at her 
plight, but she wouldn’t pay any heed to him. 

" We’ll talk about that afterwards,” she said ; 
“ let’s finish the game first.” 

Bangton glanced at her admiringly. This modern 
young Amazon appealed to him enormously. He 
concentrated his attention, however, upon the serious 
business in hand, that of saving the match, which 
Billy’s remarkable shot had rendered possible. Both 
balls were lying on the green, but that of Billy and 
Bangton was some twenty yards from the hole, whilst 
their opponents’ was some ten yards nearer and they 


120 


BIIXY 


[chap. X 

were receiving a stroke into the bargain. Mabel’s 
partner was not likely to hole his put, but he would 
almost certainly lay his ball “ dead,” so that to halve 
the match Langton had to hole out. 

He was very anxious to make a shot worthy of 
Billy’s effort, and he took a good deal of trouble about 
it, carefully studying the lie of the ground and the line 
to the hole. Billy watched him, but she made no 
suggestions — she imagined that her partner was not 
“ plus four ” at Prestwick for nothing. 

And she was right, for he holed out. 

Holing out at twenty yards has undoubtedly a 
considerable element of luck in it, but there are two 
things a capable player can do — one is to start the ball 
on the right line to the hole, and the other is to hit it 
hard enough to get there. Bangton’s ball was “ in 
the whole way,” as golfers say, not a hesitating, sneaky 
shot that just crawls up to the hole and drops in, but 
a firm, true hit that went boldly for the “ back of the 
tin,” almost jumped the hole, changed its mind and 
disappeared with a triumphant wriggle. 

The others holed out in two, and the match was 
halved with the stroke. 

Then Bangton turned his attention to Billy, who 
was certainly looking rather battered. 

“ How are you feeling ? ” he asked. 

“ Rather classical, but chiefly hungry,” she replied ; 
“ it was Polyphemus who only had one eye, wasn’t 
it? ” 

She washed herself into comparative respect- 
ability, however, in about ten minutes, and displayed 
great absorptive power in regard to buttered toast 
when they sat down to tea in the club house. After 


CHAP. X] 


BILIyY 


I2I 


which she and Baiigton proceeded to discuss the 
subjects they had in common, which seemed to consist 
of nearly every known form of violent exercise. 

“ You two are dreadful,” complained Mabel, “ and 
your conversation positively makes my muscles ache.” 

They left the club house and strolled about the 
grounds. Tangton enjoyed himself very much. He 
lit his pipe and puffed away and listened to Billy, 
whilst she, on her part, found this tall, fair man a 
very pleasant companion. They all went home by 
the same train, which dropped them at different stages 
of its journey. 

Tangton gathered up his clubs at Earl’s Court. 

“ I change here,” he said, “ and go on to High 
Street.” 

“ Good-bye,” said Billy ; “ mind you join Sheen 
Park.” 

" I’m going to,” he replied, “ and I hope you’ll 
let me play with you occasionally.” 

“ You bet ! ” said Billy. 

She returned home in high spirits. She considered 
that she had had a most successful day. She had got 
her feet wet, half-blinded herself, and almost lost a 
tooth — but there had been compensations for these 
slight drawbacks. 

She liked Eangton. 

The vista of future strenuous matches with her 
companionable, able-bodied acquaintance formed a 
very pleasant prospect to her mind, and she felt 
amiably disposed towards all the world in general 
when she got home, including J erry . She was bubbling 
over wdth good humour, and even refrained from laugh- 
ing when he related how that morning the policeman 


122 


BILLY 


[chap. X 


on duty in the Row had warned him agaiast furious 
riding — whereas it was his horse that was temporarily 
running away with him in playful exuberance of high 
spirits. 

“ I hope you didn’t fall off ? ” she said. 

“ Rather not,” replied Jerry proudly. ” They 
told me at the riding-school that I had a natural seat. 
I think there’s something in it,” he added seriously. 

“Yes,” said Billy, with forced gravity, “ I expect 
you were born with it.” 

“ And what sort of day have you had ? ” he asked. 

“ Oh, quite nice,” she answered carelessly. 

“ I’ve been thinking that I should like to take up 
golf again ” 

“ You mustn’t become too athletic,” she inter- 
rupted ; “ you’ve got the Row.” 

“ I’m seeking for fresh worlds to conquer.” 

“My dear Jerry,” said Billy — the suggestion of 
golf did not appeal to her agreeably — “ you mustn’t 
overdo yourself — you’re not Alexander the Great, or 
whoever it was you’re Jerry the little.” 

He ignored her remark, which was not quite a 
kind one, but Billy’s good humour was vanishing 
rapidly. 

“ What about Sheen Park ? Couldn’t I join that ? 
Then I could play with you ? ” 

“ You’d hate it,” said Billy ; “ it’s much too difficult 
a course for you. It’s quite a different thing to potter- 
ing round a tuppenny-ha’penny course like Beachaven 
— besides, it’s very crowded.” 

“You seem to get on all right,” he objected. 

“ That’s quite a different thing ■ I’m used to it.” 

“ Well, I can get used to it too.” 


CHAP, x] BILLY 123 

Billy got up irritably. She wasn’t going to stand 
this at any price. 

“ You don’t play well enough yet; that’s the long 
and short of it. Wait till we go out of Town. We’ll 
go down to Beachaven and you can get some practice, 
then we’ll see about it.” 

“ I should rather like to have a look at the place, 
anyhow,” said Jerry, 

“ That’s easily managed. I’ll take you down with 
me one day and stand you tea.” 

Billy was so pleased at his not persisting in his 
original idea that she gladly made this concession — 
moreover, it was a very vague one. 

Jerry was not quite satisfied yet. 

“ You see, Billy,” he said, “ I don’t see much of you 
now that you’ve given up riding with me.” 

“ I haven’t given it up,” she replied, “ although I 
agree that I haven’t done it of late. I’ll go with you 
to-morrow if you like,” she added with inspiration. 

Jerry beamed his satisfaction. 

“ Do,” he said ; “ that will be delightful.” 

She went riding with him the next day ; what is 
more, she gave him a good deal of her society whilst 
they were in the Row, instead of careering about on 
her own, as she usually did, and merely joining him 
at intervals. She felt that she was paying the price 
of future liberty, and that she had better make a good 
job of it while she was about it. Jerry was in the 
seventh heaven at this newly acquired companionship 
of his wife, and he flushed with pleasure when she 
congratulated him upon the progress he had made in 
riding. 

“ It would be a thousand pities if you were to chuck 


124 


BILLY 


[chap. X 


it now that you’re getting on so well,” she remarked 
with subtle cunning and an uneasy feeling of meanness. 

“ Yes,” he assented, “ I think perhaps you’re right 
after all. Golf and riding is rather overdoing it.” 

Billy continued to emulate the alleged wisdom of 
the serpent by adopting a method of judicious com- 
promise, that is to say, she played golf at Sheen Park 
for four or five days a week and gave her husband the 
benefit of her company in the Park on the remainder. 
She began to feel a sense of totally unmerited virtue, 
Langton joined the club and played frequent 
matches with her, increasingly frequent as time went 
on, which was very pleasant for him — and her. Jerry, 
too, was quite pleased at the altered state of affairs. 

So that every one was satisfied. 


CHAPTER XI 


There was one thing that Billy had overlooked. That 
was that increased amiability towards the person who 
loves you is apt to cause that person to imagine that 
you love him. Jerry was not a conceited man, but he 
was getting very much in love with Billy, and he was 
trying to make her reciprocate. The subject on which 
his father had spoken to him as a matter of policy had 
now become with him a matter of desire. He had 
long wished for closer relations with his wife — and 
she had been very nice to him of late. He was very 
diffident about taking the first step, but he reflected 
that it was his part to do so. He made several in- 
effectual efforts to bring the conversation into a more 
tender channel than was customary between himself and 
Billy, but they were not very successful, for he only 
succeeded in making her laugh. 

As a matter of fact, she hadn’t the slightest idea of 
what he was driving at. When she discovered, it 
quite startled her. She brushed aside his suggestions, 
however, in her characteristic way. 

“ Liberty, igaliU, mais pas maternity,” she chanted. 
“ Them’s my sentiments. I’ve put ’em in my worst 
French because they sound better that way than in 
English.” 

Jerry, however, had taken the plunge. 

125 


126 BILLY [chap. XI 

" That contract of ours was a mistake, Billy,” he 
said ; “ I wish we hadn’t made it.” 

“ Thanks,” said Billy ; “ why don’t you say at once 
that you’re sorry you married me. Don’t mind the 
feelings of a feeble woman.” 

" You know I don’t mean that — I mean that we 
didn’t foresee that we might get to care for each 
other.” 

“ My dear Jerry, I shouldn’t have married you if 
I hadn’t cared for you. Apparently you did marry me 
under those circumstances. I’ve been a neglected wife 
and didn’t know it. I’m a poor deluded thing, and I 
shall go back to my mother.” 

J erry was not to be put off by chaff. 

“ I want an heir,” he said. 

“ I’m not keen on heirs,” she replied ; “ as the 
lawyers say, we’re at issue on that point. Remember 
the bond, the whole bond and nothing but the 
bond.” 

“ Oh, blow the bond ! We’ve broken it long ago. 
It’s a very ragged bit of parchment now.” 

“ It has got a bit tom,” she admitted; ” but some 
of the clauses remain, and the signatures are still 
there.” 

She upset her claret and emptied the salt cellar 
on the stain. 

“ Billy, her mark ! ” she laughed. “ I quite 
admit,” she continued, ” that we’ve varied the contract 
a bit, made concessions here and there, and not lived 
as per programme in icy isolation ; but don’t let’s go 
in for overcrowding.” 

“ I wdsh you’d be serious,” he protested. He 
looked very serious himself, and when Jerry looked 


CHAP. Xl] 


BILLY 


127 


serious he looked comical. Billy restrained her mirth 
with an effort, but her lip quivered and her eyes danced. 

“ I’m surprised at you, Jerry,” she said demurely, 
“ to spring this on me like this. I’m only hiding my 
outraged modesty under a cloak of jest.” 

Jerry sprang to his feet in the marionette-like way 
he had when excited. 

” I love you, Billy,” he said ; “ really I do.” 

■ “ I know,” she replied ; “ it’s quite sweet of you — 
and perfectly ridiculous.” 

She noticed his disappointed look and hastened to 
soften the blow by good-natured procrastination — her 
usual way. 

“ Some day, perhaps,” she said, ” but not yet. 
We’re both young and there’s heaps of time.” 

He came over to her. 

“ Some day ? ” he said. “ You really mean it.” 

“ Of course I mean it,” she answered. She rose 
from her seat quickly. Jerry had looked as if he was 
going to kiss her, and she was sure she would laugh if 
he did, so she avoided the catastrophe by judicious 
retreat. 

Billy’s conduct may have appeared heartless, but 
there was something to be said for her. She was not 
in love with Jerry, had never been, and could never be. 
Moreover, she was blessed — or cursed — with a keen, 
perhaps a distorted, sense of the ludicrous, and no 
woman with a sense of humour ought to marry a 
ridiculous husband. Jerry was ridiculous in her eyes — 
there was no gainsaying that*— and of late he had seemed 
more so than ever ; perhaps that was due to his growing 
lover-like attitude, perhaps it was due to the contrast 
he presented to Frank Langton. 


128 


BIIylvY 


[chap. XI 


Billy played golf with Bangton very often now, in 
fact, practically every time that she went to Sheen 
Park, and no longer in foursomes — ordinary matches 
in which they weren’t bothered with partners were 
much more interesting. People began to talk about 
it after a time — not that it takes much to start people 
talking. As a matter of fact, there was no harm in it ; 
Billy and Bangton played together because they liked 
each other and could give each other a good game. 
Of course he was much better than she was, but her 
play was much nearer his form than a woman’s usually 
is to a man’s, and that fact deprived the affair of any 
sinister meaning — though of course it couldn’t prevent 
people talking. Their friendship was a purely innocent 
one, merely the frank comradeship of two physically 
healthy young people with many interests in common. 
They might have been brothers. In their own slangy 
phraseology they were “ pals.” The fact that one of 
them was a man and the other a woman didn’t affect 
the situation at all so far as they were concerned. 

It did affect the situation, however, so far as other 
people were concerned. Even Mabel, who was by no 
means strait-laced, chaffingly protested to Bangton 
one day. 

“ You are thick, you two ! ” she said. “ Fortunately, 
I know Billy is not of the spoony variety or I should 
think you were trifling with her affections.” 

“ Or she with mine,” replied her cousin. “ As a 
matter of fact, we’re much too busy deciding whether 
I can give her a third or not to think about anything 
else.” 

Perhaps the way in which Billy and Bangton arrived 
at the stage of calling each other by their Christian 


BIIvIvY 


129 


CHAP. Xl] 

names formed the most conclusive proof of the innocence 
of their relationship. It happened one day when they 
were playing together — Billy had just made her shot, 
and Bangton was about to make his, when, instead of 
doing so, he stooped and examined his ball. 

“ Oh, Billy, you silly ass ! ” he cried, “ you’ve 
played with the wrong ball.” 

“ Awfully sorry, Frank,” she replied ; “ I’ll fetch it 
back.” 

Then it occurred to both of them simultaneously 
that this was an unusual form of address, and they 
laughed in chorus — but they continued the habit. 

Mabel soon noticed it. 

“ Nice goings on ! ” she cried — ^Mabel, like most 
of Billy’s friends, was a bit slangy herself — “ Extra 
Speshul ! The Hartist and the Bady, Scandal in ’igh 
life, hall the details. I don’t think I ought to know 
either of you any more ; I come of a respectable 
family.” 

“ It’s your own fault,” said Billy • “ you introduced 
me to him — and, anyhow, he started it.” 

" And mighty indignant you were, weren’t you ? ” 
put in Bangton j “ especially when you found you’d 
played with the right ball after all.” 

“ Well,” remarked Mabel sententiously, " the 
golfing maxim to ‘ keep your eye on the ball ’ has a 
good deal of rudimentary morality in it.” 

“ Would you mind saying that again quite slowly ? ” 
said Billy politely ; “ I should like to write it down.” 

“ Oh,” said Mabel impatiently, “ you’re a pair of 
silly children ” — she was considerably younger than 
either of them — “ and you both ought to be smacked 
and put in the comer.” 

K 


130 BILLY [CHAP. XI 

She looked at their long forms extended in deck 
chairs — Mabel was somewhat petite herself. 

“ As that cannot be done conveniently,” she 
added, “ you’d better run away and play.” 

“ Come with us,” said Langton, “ and make a 
Three Ball ! ” 

“ No, thanks ! ” said Mabel. “ I’m particular about 
the company I keep. I still have a reputation to 
lose.” 

She settled herself comfortably in the chair Billy 
had vacated. 

“ I shall stay here,” she said, “ until I can find a 
nice young man of my own. But I shall not call him 
by his Christian name, and I shall not allow him to call 
me by mine — unless,” she added meditatively, “ he 
is very nice indeed.” 

Billy and Langton sauntered off to the tee, smacked 
two balls with vigour and accuracy down the centre 
of the course and proceeded to enjoy their game and 
each other’s society. 

Their apparent attitude to each other has been 
mentioned — that is to say, the attitude apparent to 
themselves. As to whether that was the real one may 
perhaps be open to doubt. Were they simply two 
sexless beings drawn into each other’s society by mere 
community of interests ? We are told that sexless 
beings once existed, or rather, beings endowed with 
the attributes of both sexes, and latter-day cynics may 
be found to affirm that the day is rapidly approaching 
when the world will be inhabited by people with the 
attributes of neither. But that day is not yet. And 
anyway, neither Billy nor Frank Langton could 
properly be placed in either such biological category. 


BILIvY 


CHAP. Xl] 


I3I 


They were not in love with each other — yet. That 
much may be asserted. Tove tends to eat away the 
self-esteem of the man or woman it attacks, and there 
was no sign of any wasting away in that direction on 
the part of Billy or Bangton. They were both 
thoroughly satisfied with each other and themselves, 
which is a very excellent state of affairs while it 
lasts. 

There was a good deal of the mutual admiration 
society principle in their friendship. Billy admired 
Bangton because he was physically a fine man and 
played better golf than she could ever hope to do, 
and Bangton very naturally admired her because 
she admired him, A man who thinks a good 
deal of himself will naturally think a good deal of a 
woman who shares that opinion — especially if she 
is a pretty one. But it would not be fair to Bangton 
to suggest that he was a mere passive object of hom- 
age who liked the process. He was a fairly active 
worshipper himself — and Billy was a comely goddess. 
She attracted him enormously, she seemed to draw 
the best out of him — what he thought the best, that 
is to say, he found he always made a good show in her 
company, and the anticipation of her cheerful “ good 
shot ” put him on the top of his game. 

As a matter of fact, it is idle to speculate further 
as to the stage at which the emotions of these two had 
at present arrived, for they hadn’t arrived at any. 
They were on the way, however, to some destination 
at present unknown and unsuspected. 

Billy still continued to see a good deal of Jim, for 
he dined intermittently at Queen’s Gate. She was 
awfully fond of Jim, she had a tremendous respect 


132 


BILLY 


[chap. XI 

for him — she didn’t admire him ; but then Jim wasn’t 
brilliant, only honest. Jim never flattered her, in 
fact, he was uncomfortably direct in what he said. 
That is probably why she respected him. 

She didn’t respect Langton a bit, but then she 
admired him very much. He did flatter her, his 
preference for her society above all others did that. 
Oh, Billy ! 

She didn’t know she felt flattered. That was the 
weak joint in her armour. 

So things went on until well into July. 

Billy and Langton were finishing their round one hot 
afternoon and looking forward to the tea which awaited 
them at the club house. Billy wasn’t playing very 
well — it was too hot, and they had started directly 
after lunch and got the full force of the sun. Langton 
beat her fairly easily in consequence — four up and 
three to play. 

“ Let’s walk in,” said Billy, “ and have another 
round after tea.” 

He assented readily. 

“ I think we were a pair of lunatics to come out in 
the sun — no, it’s the moon that affects them, isn’t it ? ” 
he corrected. 

Billy lazily climbed the club steps without answering. 
The veranda was deserted except for a man apparently 
peacefully sleeping under the shade of a newspaper. 
Langton followed her. 

” My dear Billy,” he said, ” I made a special effort 
to make that joke.” 

” My dear Frank,” she replied languidly, “ I didn’t 
know it was one. Go and order tea like a dear thing — 
lots of it.” 


CHAP, XI] BIIvLY 133 

Then the man who was apparently asleep put down 
his paper. It was Jerry. 

“ I came to have tea with you, too, Billy,” he said. 
For once Billy lost her head. 

“ Hullo, Jerry ! ” she said, “ let me introduce — er — 
Mr. Bangton.” 

And for once Jerry rose to the occasion, 

“ How do you do — er — Mr. Frank Bangton,” he 
said. 

None of them enjoyed their tea. 


CHAPTER XII 


Dinner was a silent meal at Queen’s Gate that night. 
There was a state of tension between Billy and Jerry as 
they faced each other across the table. It had existed 
during their triangular tea at Sheen Park, it had con- 
tinued during their journey home together in the train, 
and it was somewhat increased, if anything, now that 
they were alone together. 

Jerry was jealous. There could be no doubt of 
that. He had grown to love his wife, and he wanted 
her all to himself. He grudged the time that she spent 
away from him. That was why he had suggested 
joining Sheen Park. Well, she had put him off that, 
much to his disappointment, and he had acquiesced, 
though reluctantly. He had indeed been rather 
touched by her solicitude about his “ not overdoing 
it.” It had seemed to be a sign that she was growing 
fonder of him. But his meeting with Eangton had 
quite upset his apple cart. 

He had invited himself down to Sheen Park to tea 
as a sort of pleasant surprise to Billy. He had certainly 
been a surprise, though not apparently a pleasant one. 
Moreover, his normally self-possessed wife had appeared 
singularly ill at ease at their meeting, and consequently 
all sorts of unpleasant ideas began to creep into Jerry’s 
mind — which was, after all, a shallow one. He took 
an immediate dislike to Eangton, and the more 
134 


BIIvLY 


CHAP. XIl] 


135 


he thought about the matter the more he disliked 
him. 

He thought about the matter a good deal. During 
tea and on his way home, and after he got there, he 
continued turning things over in his mind. He recalled 
the amount of time which Billy had recently spent at 
Sheen Park, the strenuous resistance which she had 
made to his going there, and the curious fact that, 
when he did turn up one day unexpectedly, he should 
discover her on terms of exceeding intimacy with a 
man of whom he had never heard before. He recog- 
nized him, of course, as the man whom he had seen 
playing golf at Beachaven the previous year, but he 
had never spoken to him until Billy introduced him 
at tea, nor did he know that she had ever done so. 
He would have thought nothing of it had it not been for 
her secrecy about the matter, but Billy was so com- 
municative concerning all she did that her concealment 
upon this occasion acquired a significance in his eyes 
which it otherwise would not have possessed. 

Billy also did some thinking. Metaphorically she 
kicked herself. She felt that she had put herself into 
a false position without any occasion whatever. There 
was no reason in the world why she should have kept 
Jerry in the dark about Dangton. Had she kept him 
in the dark ? Well, she hadn’t mentioned him. Why 
should she mention him ? Unfortunately she couldn’t 
think of any other instance of forgetfulness on her part. 
She racked her brains unavailingly in the attempt, and 
grew irritable in consequence. And then her clumsy 
introduction of him as “ Mr. Dangton,” when she knew 
J erry had heard her call him “ Frank.” She must have 
completely lost her nerve. But what nonsense ! She 


BILLY 


[chap. XII 


136 

had nothing to lose her nerve about. Everything was 
straight and above board — really, in spite of appear- 
ances. She was a free agent by the terms of her 
contract. Besides, fancy losing one’s nerve on account 
of Jerry ! She kicked herself with still greater meta- 
phorical energy. 

She told herself with considerable emphasis that she 
was absolutely in the right. What business had Jerry 
to come down to Sheen Park and disturb her pleasure ? 
She had invited him ? But that was a long time ago, 
and she had never meant him to come. Why hadn’t 
she meant him to come ? Because he wasn’t wanted ; 
she couldn’t always have him hanging on to her skirts. 
Besides, she gave him a good deal of her time as it 
was — in the Row. To keep him quiet ? Well, what of 
it ? It was very amiable on her part anyhow, she 
needn’t have done it. 

In spite of her self-communings Billy was not quite 
comfortable. She knew that she had been trying to 
deceive Jerry, and she had the unpleasant feeling of 
having been found out. It made her angry with herself 
and him, and she didn’t enjoy her dinner a bit — which 
was very unusual for her. 

She watched the sulky face of her husband. She 
knew that he was dying to talk about Langton, but 
hadn’t the courage to begin. She resolved not to give 
him any opportunity if she could help it. She thought 
that the best way to prevent him talking was to talk 
herself. She usually had plenty of topics of conversa- 
tion at her command, but now that she wanted them 
particularly she found that she had curiously nothing 
to say. 

“ Did you ride this morning ? ” she asked. 


BILLY 


137 


CHAP. XII] 

“ Yes.” 

“ Lady Fairborough out ? ” 

” No.” 

That seemed to exhaust that subject. What on 
earth was there to talk about ? Clearly she must pass 
the lead. Jerry led from his long suit. He stimulated 
his nerve with a preliminary glass of port. 

“ About that fellow Langton ? ” he said. 

Billy helped herself to a cigarette — she rarely 
smoked. 

“ What of him ? ” she asked. 

“You seem to know him pretty well ? ” 

“ I do.” 

“ You’ve never spoken about him to me.” 

Billy let the smoke from her cigarette trickle through 
her nostrils before answering. 

“ Why should I ? ” she inquired. 

Jerry blinked with nervous anger. 

“ I think you might have,” he said. 

“Oh yes,” said Billy; “I might have. I might 
keep a diary of what I do during the day, and read it 
to you at night, but I don’t.” 

“ I suppose you like him very much ? ” 

“ Who ? Mr. Langton ? ” 

“ Why not call him Frank ? ” 

Jerry jerked out the question with a sudden spiteful 
emphasis which quite startled Billy. She had never 
seen him like this before — the little man had gone pale 
in the face with anger, not red, as most people do. 
She felt that she must take her stand now and at 
once. 

“ I shall call him what I like, when I like,” she 
replied with intentionally provocative calmness. 


138 BILLY [chap. XII 

“ And see him when, where, and as often as he likes, 
I suppose,” bubbled Jerry furiously. 

The time had obviously arrived for Billy to teach 
her husband his place. 

“ I know you can’t help being ridiculous,” she said ; 
“ but you needn’t be a cad.” 

She rose from her seat and walked to the other end 
of the room. She leant against the mantelpiece and 
regarded Jerry, still seated at the table. He seemed 
smaller and more insignificant than ever as he sat mider 
the glare of the electric light, whilst the shadow in 
which she stood on the contrary served to increase her 
height. She was now thoroughly angry, and she had 
no intention of sparing him. His anger, on the other 
hand, was fast evaporating after his last petulant 
splutter. He looked like a dejected little animal which 
knows that it is going to be whipped, and certainly 
Billy intended to perform the operation thoroughly. 

“Now, listen to me,” she said; “I married you on 
the distinct understanding that we minded our own 
business. You’ve got no right to audit my accoimts.” 

“I’m not suggesting C’ he began, but she brushed 

aside his interruption impatiently. 

“ That’s exactly what you are doing. Now you’ve 
got to understand once and for all that I am as much 
entitled to go my own way and to have my own friends 
as you are.” 

“ Women friends ? ” he queried. “ May I have 
them ? ” 

“ Certainly,” she snapped. “ If you can get them ! ” 

It was a nasty lash and she intended it to hurt. It 
had an unexpected effect upon Jerry, however, for it 
stung him into a temporary show of courage. 


BIIyIvY 


139 


CHAP. XII] 

“ Thanks,” he said, “ I have some regard for the 
position of my wife if she has none for that of her 
husband.” 

In spite of his physical shortcomings he looked 
really dignified for the moment. 

” Then don’t spy on her actions,” replied Billy with 
an unpleasant little laugh. 

“ I wasn’t spying on your actions. I didn’t know 
there was any occasion to.” 

Billy lost her temper completely. She walked up 
to him with her eyes blazing. 

“ And now ? ” she said, and waited. 

He looked up at her towering above him, and then 
all his dignity, and his courage, and his anger crumpled 
up. 

“You are my wife, you know,” he murmured feebly. 

“ Yes,” said Billy ; “ that’s just it. I am your wife. 
I’m not your hat or your pianola. You seem to think 
I’m a bit of furniture that you can do as you like with. 
Well, you’re wrong.” 

He wasn’t quite done yet. 

“ A wife owes a certain amount of duty to her 
husband,” he began vaguely, but Billy interrupted him. 

“ This wife doesn’t. I suppose you’ll say next that 
I promised to love, honour, and obey you.” 

“ Well — you did, you know,” he replied. 

“ Oh,” cried Billy furiously, “ that’s the limit ! 
Well, I don’t love you, I don’t honour you, and 
I haven’t the slightest intention of ever obeying 
you.” 

Jerry sprang up with sudden passion. 

“ Damn the contract ! ” he shouted. “ I wish we’d 
never made it.” 


140 BILLY [CHAP. XII 

“ So do I,” said Billy ; “ good night” ; and with that 
parting shot she left him. 

Once in her own room her wrath speedily melted, 
and, in fact, at the back of her mind she began to feel 
slightly ashamed of herself. After all, she needn’t have 
been so hard on Jerry. She might have been a little 
patient; it was absurd to lose her temper with him. 
With all her faults Billy had the instincts of a sports- 
man, and one of these is to hit a person your own 
size. She felt as if she had been spanking a small 
boy unnecessarily hard for some trivial fault. 

She tried to forget the incident in a novel, but the 
attempt was not successful, the pages conveyed no 
message to her as she turned them, and she still saw 
her husband a forlorn little figure in the dining-room 
below. She cursed her wayward tongue. She really 
had a most unhappy knack of saying nasty things. She 
felt that she had been behaving like a spoilt boy who 
amuses himself by throwing stones, careless of how 
much he may hurt. She got up once or twice with 
the intention of going downstairs and “ making it up ” ; 
but the act of singing small was always distasteful to 
masterful Billy, so she postponed the fulfilment of her 
good resolutions till the next morning. 

To her credit, be it said, she went downstairs next 
day with the full intention of carrying them out. She 
came into breakfast with the firm resolve to be most 
amiable to Jerry. To her surprise she found that he 
wasn’t there, and she had her breakfast alone. This 
had been quite a usual proceeding for some time after 
her marriage, but Jerry had been a consistently early 
riser ever since he had begun to fall in love with his 
wife. 


CHAP, XIl] 


BILLY 


141 

Billy felt rather irritated at this unexpected check 
to her new-found virtue. She had expected to find 
Jerry waiting for her, very miserable and penitent, and 
she would then have told him that last night’s row was 
all her fault, and that she was sorry she had upset 
him, for which gracious words on her part he 
would very properly have overwhelmed her with 
gratitude. 

As a crowning act of condescension she had intended 
to go riding with him, and for that purpose had put 
on her riding habit. She had pictured the look of 
pleasure which would light up Jerry’s face when she 
walked into the room thus attired. It is rather dis- 
appointing when you are expecting to make a trium- 
phant entry to find that you have to do it to an empty 
house. Billy began to feel that the part of peacemaker 
perhaps didn’t suit her after all. She was on the point 
of abandoning it and going out when Jerry appeared. 
He was looking rather yellow, as if he had not had a 
particularly good night. He hardly looked at Billy, and 
he didn’t notice her riding kit at all. 

“ Morning, Billy,” he said. 

There was a tone of sulkiness in his voice which 
Billy had never known before. She was not accus- 
tomed to being treated in this casual manner and she 
resented it. 

“Nice manners you’ve got,” she said; “ I’ve a great 
mind not to go riding with you.” 

“ I’mnot going riding,” he replied shortly, and began 
his breakfast. 

Billy flushed with anger, but she controlled herself 
with an effort. After all, why start another row ? 
Besides, she reflected, she would take it out of him 




142 


[chap. XII 


later when he had recovered his temper. So she went 
to the telephone and ordered her horse. 

But she was not at all in her customarily equable 
state as she trotted through the Park gates. Jerry’s 
reception of her had annoyed her extremely, and she 
proceeded to work off her feelings in a rousing canter 
as soon as she reached the tan. Walking didn’t suit 
her that morning and she scarcely gave her horse any 
breathers at all, much to that animal’s distress, for 
Billy rode heavy. 

“ Dear ! dear ! ” cried a voice at her elbow; “ don’t 
you ever get tired ? Anyhow, your horse does ; look 
at him, poor dear ! ” 

Billy pulled up as soon as she heard Dady Fair- 
borough’s greeting ; she was flushed with her exercise 
and her habit was flecked with foam. 

“ I’m in a bad temper,” she said, “ and I’m 
trying to get rid of it. However, you’re an excellent 
cure.” 

Dady Fairborough laughed. 

“ As a sedative, I suppose ? ” she said. “ Where 
have you been all this time ? I hardly ever see you 
now, and when you do come here you’re so wrapped 
up in your husband that you have no time for poor 
me. Why didn’t you bring him this morning ? ” 

Billy cut the air with a vicious little flick of her 
riding whip without answering. Dady Fairborough 
noticed the action. 

" Ah,” she said, “ you’ve had a row.” 

“ Yes,” replied Billy, “ I jumped on him rather 
badly last night, and he hasn’t got over it yet.” 

She gave her own version of the previous evening’s 
encounter. 


CHAP. XII] BIIyIvY 143 

“ I don’t like rows,” said Bady Fairborough 
meditatively; “ they’re bad things — I know.” 

Billy was disgusted at this reception of her 
grievances. 

” Well,” she said, “ I was in the right, and anyhow 
he began it.” 

“You seem to have finished it pretty effectively,” 
replied her companion. 

“You see he’s not quite up to my weight,” laughed 
Billy. 

“ All the more reason why you should ride him 
easy,” said Bady Fairborough. 

Billy went home prepared to give Jerry another 
chance. He was apparently at his club, however, for 
he did not turn up for lunch. He came home to 
dinner, but by that time Billy’s ardour had become 
somewhat damped and Jerry’s indifferent face on the 
other side of the table didn’t stimulate her to further 
efforts. Nevertheless, she enjoyed her dinner, which 
was apparently more than he did. She also occa- 
sionally essayed conversation, but it becomes fatiguing 
to talk about subjects which seem to possess no interest 
for the person addressed. So Billy concentrated her 
attention on the dessert. 

It was then that Jerry departed for the first time 
from a sequence of monosyllables. 

“ I wish you’d ask Bangton to dinner, Billy,” he 
said. 

Billy looked up surprised. It seemed a strange 
request to come from Jerry, and his tone was not 
particularly cordial. 

“ Oh ? ” she said. “ I thought you weren’t keen 
on Mr. Bangton.” 


144 


BII.I.Y 


[chap. XII 

“ I think I ought to recognize his existence,” he 
replied, with a pompous air which was not natural to 
him. It was clear to Billy that he was putting it on, 
though she couldn’t imagine why. 

“ What are you getting at ? ” she asked. 

“ I just wanted to see if you wanted him to come. 
I see you don’t, that’s all,” replied Jerry. 

Billy restrained her rising temper. She remem- 
bered what Lady Fairborough had said that morning. 
Perhaps, after all, rows were bad things • certainly they 
shouldn’t be of chronic occurrence, and, anyway, Jerry 
wasn’t up to her weight — she ought to ride him easy. 

So she turned a smiling face to her husband. 

“ My dear Othello,” she said, “ I will certainly ask 
him, if you like ; but you must promise not to poison 
the wine or attempt the smothering act with your bed- 
room pillow.” 

Billy had hoped that her playful sally would have 
cleared away the clouds from Jerry’s brow. He had 
often laughed at more feeble efforts of hers before, but 
a remarkable change seemed to have been effected in 
her little husband. He named a day and relapsed into 
his grumpy manner. Billy attributed this at the time 
to his not liking the process of climbing down. They 
separated to their own rooms after dinner, but Billy 
subsequently thought that she might as well be com- 
panionable, so she went down and joined Jerry in the 
library. To her surprise she found him arrayed in his 
discarded, many-tinted smoking-jacket, and shod in his 
carpet slippers. She couldn’t refrain from remarking 
on his vivid appearance. 

“ I suppose that is the Standard of Independence,” 
she said. 


CHAP, xii] BILLY 145 

She spoke quite good-naturedly, but Jerry flared up 
at once. 

“ Yes,” he said, “ it is,” and proceeded to bury 
himself in a book. 

The next day Billy bethought her of the invitation 
to Langton. She went up to her boudoir to write it. 

She dipped her pen in the ink, and then she paused. 
Why on earth did Jerry want Langton to come to 
dinner ? He had made the request too in such a funny 
way. He had certainly not been actuated by motives 
of hospitality or liking for the proposed guest. By 
what then ? 

Billy chewed the handle of her pen. 

She recalled the scene when Jerry had mentioned 
the subject, his petulant, jealous outburst when she 
had expressed surprise, his obviously assumed reason 
that he ought to “ recognize the existence ” of Langton, 
and his relapse into surliness after she had agreed to do 
what he wanted. Something had been working at the 
back of his queer little mind. What was it ? 

The pen gave her no inspiration, so she commenced 
making balls of blotting paper. 

It was really extraordinary that Jerry should want 
Langton to come. The two men were so utterly opposed 
to each other in every way. They had nothing in 
common — except herself. No, they hadn’t even got 
that. The more she thought over what J erry had said 
the less she liked it. There had been something sinister 
in his artificiality. Could it be that he had resolved 
to break up her friendship with Langton by getting 
her to ask him to the house and then doing something 
or other ridiculous, something that would disgust him 
and humiliate her ? It would be awfully mean * but 


BILIvY 


[chap. XII 


146 

she felt that Jerry was quite capable of being that. It 
would also be rather clever — that made her doubt 
whether he had ever thought of it. 

So she didn’t write the invitation. 

But Jerry recurred to it at lunch. 

“ Written to Bangton ? ” he asked. 

" No.” 

“ Why not ? ” 

“ Oh, I forgot all about it.” 

“ Well, you may as well do it after lunch.” 

Billy went on with her lunch for a few minutes in 
silence. 

“ I’m not particularly anxious to have Mr. Bangton 
to dinner,” she said. 

“ You seem to be particularly anxious not to.” 

“You needn’t make a more complete fool of your- 
self than Nature has rendered inevitable,” replied Billy 
angrily. She had come to the conclusion that Bady 
Fairborough’s policy of meekness didn’t suit her. 

Jerry rose from the table. 

“ All right,” he said ; “ I’ll ask him myself.” 

Billy rose in her turn. 

“ Very well,” she said ; “ as I don’t want him to 
think that I’m married to a wandering lunatic I’ll go 
and write to him now.” 

She went upstairs to write the letter, but she was 
more determined than ever that Bangton shouldn’t 
come. She had never written to him before, although 
she knew his address, for he had often mentioned his 
studio to her. The significance of this occurred to her 
when she got as far as “ Dear.” What was she to call 
him ? “ Frank ” was easily spoken in everyday speech, 

but, somehow, writing it seemed a different thing. She 


CHAP. XIl] 


BIIvIvY 


147 


sucked her pen meditatively and began to write “ Mr.” 
She looked at it critically, and came to the conclusion 
that it wouldn’t do — especially in view of what she 
was going to say, so she scratched it out. Her com- 
pleted note was short and to the point, it ran — 

“ Dear Frank, 

“ Jerry wants me to ask you to dinner next 
Thursday. I don’t want you to come, so please say 
you’re engaged. I’ll explain when we meet. 

“ Yours, 

“ Billy.” 

She didn’t quite know how she was going to explain 
when they met, but she trusted to being able to invent 
something. The important thing was that Langton 
shouldn’t come to dinner, and she felt that he could 
hardly do so after receiving that letter. 

On the next day she received his reply, politely 
declining the invitation on the plea of a prior engage- 
ment. She tossed the letter across the table to Jerry. 
He scrutinized the wording. 

“ Dear Mrs. Aynesworth,” he commented, with un- 
pleasant emphasis; “ admirably discreet ! ” 

Dangton had been in doubt as to whether to write 
to her as “ Billy ” or not, but her note had been so 
extraordinary that he had decided on the more formal 
mode of address. Then he rolled her letter up into a 
ball, threw it at the wastepaper-basket, which he 
missed, and promptly forgot all about it. 

It was subsequently foimd by Mrs. Peters. 

Mrs, Peters was the housekeeper who attended upon 
the occupants of the various studios, of which there 


BILLY 


[chap. XII 


148 

were four in all. Her occupation consisted in under- 
taking their laundry work at exorbitant rates, and 
intermittently removing the dust from one part of a 
studio to another. It was whilst she was thus engaged 
that she came across Billy’s note. She straightened 
it out and read it. It obviously interested her, for she 
folded it up and put it in her pocket. 

Then she went on shifting dust. 


CHAPTER XIII 


Had Billy and Jerry been a pair of ordinary people 
they could of course have made up their differences, 
and might have been handed down to posterity as an 
excellent example of a sensibly happy couple — the 
adverb should be noted. But they were not a pair of 
ordinary people. Moreover, they should not have been 
a pair at all. 

Hence, they didn’t make it up. In fact, there was 
a spirit of antagonism and not of compromise pre- 
vailing between them. Jerry’s emotions had experi- 
enced a very rough time at Billy’s hands. His little 
world had been turned upside down, trampled on, and 
flattened out, and now presented a completely different 
shape. He wasn’t accustomed to it yet, and he 
brooded over his wrongs, and blamed Billy for them. 

To a great extent he was right, Billy was largely 
responsible for the present situation. She had gone 
out of her way to make it clear to him that they had 
no interests in common, whereas had she possessed any 
tact she would have endeavoured to conceal that un- 
satisfactory state of things. Of course it was her quick 
temper that had made her speak to Jerry as she did, 
and, like quick-tempered people, her words passed out 
of her mind almost as quickly as they passed out of 
her mouth. She couldn’t realize that they lingered 
and stung in the memory of her husband, and when in 

149 


150 


BIIXY 


[chap. XIII 

consequence he did not instantly respond to her well- 
meant efforts at reconciliation, she promptly abandoned 
them and produced a fresh supply of vitriol. 

But Billy found that if Jerry was a difficult person 
to make peace with, he was a still more aggravating 
person to quarrel with, for he wasn’t up to her fighting 
weight at all. Consequently, altercations finally ceased 
and became merged in indifference — and that was, if 
anything, worse. 

A goddess may become somewhat weary of being 
the object of continual worship, but she would find it 
infinitely more trying to be relegated to the rank of 
an ordinary mortal and receive none at all. Billy 
soon began to realize this, and the reflection that it 
was entirely her own fault tended to exasperate rather 
than to console. She had become heartily sick of 
Jerry’s homage, it had annoyed her b3’^ its persistence, 
and she had endeavoured to cure him of it. He was 
effectually cured now. Billy began to feel quite bored 
— she had become accustomed to the atmosphere of 
incense, and she appreciated that it was rather soothing 
after it was withdrawn. 

No woman objects to being loved, though she scorn 
the lover. She may laugh at him, she may think him 
a fool, she may even profess to regard his feelings 
towards herself as being part of his folly, but she 
doesn’t really ; she considers that they constitute his 
one redeeming feature. So it was with Billy when 
Jerry ceased to worship at her shrine. She felt like 
one of the neglected deities in the British Museum at 
whom mankind of to-day would poke its umbrellas, 
were it not compelled to leave them in the entrance 
hall. 


CHAP. XIII] 


BIIvI^Y 


I5I 


And what of Bangton ? 

Well, the general exodus from Town for the summer 
holidays had begun, and Tangton shut up his studio 
and departed abroad to sketch and loaf and generally 
enjoy himself. Tangton was no bread-and-butter 
artist. That is to say, his bank balance did not 
depend upon his art. It would be more true to say 
that his art depended upon his bank balance. He 
painted for an occupation, not a living ; he was quite 
well enough off to be able to do as he liked, and he 
found an artist’s life a very pleasant background to 
his otherwise rather strenuous pursuits. 

He had seen Billy at the golf club on the day after 
he had written declining her invitation. 

“ Please explain,” he had said. 

“ Oh,” she had replied, “ I knew you would have a 
perfectly rotten time, so I thought I’d give you a 
chance of escape.” 

It was rather a lame explanation, but it had been 
quite sufficiently convincing for Bangton, who wasn’t 
deep. Now he had gone away, and Billy became more 
dull than ever. Soon she would be departing from 
London — with Jerry. The prospect was not attractive. 
Where would they go, and what would they do ? The 
contract, which had insensibly relaxed into a fairly 
workable arrangement, had been shattered and recon- 
structed. It was now all patches and joints, hard and 
nobby. There was no longer any elasticity in it. At 
first it had been all right, then it had stretched too 
much, now it wouldn’t stretch at all. 

“ Marriages should be like leases,” said Billy to 
Jim one day, “ for seven, fourteen, or twenty-one 
years.” 


152 BILIyY [chap. XIII 

“ Most people prefer a freehold,” he replied, “ and 
it’s much more respectable.” 

“ I don’t want to be respectable ; I want to be 
jolly.” 

“ Be content to be jolly respectable,” said Jim. 

He was sitting in Billy’s boudoir, and she was 
striding about the room. She came and sat on the 
arm of his chair, and rumpled his hair with her long, 
cool fingers. 

“ Dear old Perfect Person,” she said * “ you’re the 
very embodiment of respectability. Sometimes I 
almost wish you’d startle us all by doing something 
outrageous.” 

She leant over him, and her soft hair brushed his 
cheek. He looked up at her so near and yet so infi- 
nitely distant, and a sudden impulse moved him to 
take her in his arms and kiss her and tell her — well, 
that would have probably been sufficiently “ out- 
rageous ” to satisfy Billy. As a matter of fact, he 
didn’t do anything of the sort. He removed Billy’s 
disturbing fingers from his hair, and rose from his 
seat. 

” I think I’ll go home,” he said, “ before you have 
quite destroyed my parting.” 

Branksome had proved to be quite correct in his 
prophecies, and his former clients had transferred their 
attentions to Jim. Moreover, they didn’t suffer from 
the change, for Jim was a hard worker, absolutely 
reliable, and got on well with the judges. Conse- 
quently, he succeeded in gaining the confidence of 
clients to a greater extent than those who were more 
strikingly gifted. Jim could not thrill a jury, but he 
could always get a jury to listen to him, and whilst 


BILLY 


153 


CHAP. XIIl] 

another advocate would convey the impression that he 
was a very clever fellow in charge of a somewhat bad 
case, Jim always seemed to be a very ordinary in- 
dividual in charge of a good one. That was of course 
largely due to his personality, but it is a personality 
that makes for success. 

But although success was pleasant — it is always 
that — it didn’t bring with it the pleasure it might have 
done, for Billy was out of his reach, and it was Billy 
he wanted. His yearning for her had not slackened 
with time, nor been dulled by the realization of the 
impossibility of its ever being gratified. That was why 
he still continued to visit her ; though the pleasure he 
derived from her society was qualified by the bitterness 
of unobtainable desire. It was, in fact, the policy of 
the second best that he pursued ; perhaps not a wise 
one for him, but quite harmless so far as it concerned 
Billy. 

For Jim was an honest man, 

Jim mitigated Billy’s sense of boredom to some 
extent, but it was reserved for her younger sister 
Winnie to relieve her of it altogether as July reached 
its close, Winnie burst into the house one day, and 
in a bubble of excitement announced that she was 
engaged. It transpired that the object of her affec- 
tions was a certain Sam Robinson, 

“ Sam’s an awful dear,” said Winnie. “ He’s a 
gentleman farmer,” she explained with emphasis. 

“ And where does he gentlemanly farm ? ” asked 
Billy. 

“ In Alberta ; we’re going to be married at once and 
go back.” 

“ Alberta ? ” queried Billy. 


154 


BILLY 


[chap, xin 


“ Yes, Canada, you know.” 

“ Oh yes — where the snow comes from.” 

“ Don’t be silly, it’s lovely in Alberta ; Sam says he 
hardly ever sees any snow the whole year round. 
Canada’s not an inhabited iceberg.” 

“ Well, I didn’t suggest that you’d be crowded.” 

” I don’t think you’re at all nice ; I thought you’d 
be pleased,” pouted Winnie. 

“ Seriously,” said Billy, “ I didn’t anticipate your 
ending your life darning socks and milking refractory 
cows.” 

“ I like darning socks, and I’ve no doubt I could 
learn to milk a cow, if it was a nice one. And then 
Sam’s got lots of horses,” continued Winnie, with grow- 
ing enthusiasm, " and you shall come over and see us 
and ride all day.” 

“ Thanks,” said Billy dryly ; “ you’ll let me know 
which are your at-home days, and what tube I take, 
won’t you ? ” 

Billy unearthed an atlas from a bookcase, and found 
the map of Canada. She placed her finger on it 
vaguely — geography was not her strong point — “ My 
dear Kid,” she said, “ the kind of society you will meet 
over there is found over here in the Zoo.” 

“ Oh, Billy ! ” said Winnie, half crying, “ you’re 
simply horrid. Wait till you see Sam.” 

Billy saw Sam that same day. Winnie trotted him 
out with a splendid air of proprietorship. 

” Billy,” she said, “ this is Sam. Sam, this is Billy.” 

Billy liked her prospective brother-in-law very much. 
He was a tall, raw-boned man of anything between 
thirty and forty, who had apparently got his ” London 
clothes ” — as he called them — in a tremendous hurry, 




155 


CHAP. XIIl] 

for they only fitted him occasionally. In spite of that, 
he looked well in them, or rather, he showed how very 
well he would have looked had he not been in them. 
It was perfectly obvious that Nature had designed him 
for a slouch hat, a soft shirt, baggy trousers, and a 
horse who required a man to ride him. 

Sam had a beard, but it was a nice beard. It was 
of the colour of ripening corn. He looked you straight 
in the eyes when he spoke; he didn’t speak often, 
but obviously knew what he wanted and expected to 
get it. 

That was why he had got Winnie. 

He had suddenly come to the conclusion that he 
wanted a wife. He was well enough off to afford one, 
and he came to London for the purpose in much the 
same way that a woman goes to Paris for a hat. He 
hadn’t liked the London patterns — there were too many 
feathers on them. He wanted something more simple. 
Then he met Winnie — she was simple enough, so he 
took her. 

He had met her at a dinner-party ; ingratiated 
himself with her mother, got himself invited to her 
house, managed somehow or other to see her by hook 
or by crook ten times in a fortnight, and proposed to 
her on the tenth ; was promptly accepted by Winnie, 
carried away by romantic enthusiasm; alarums and 
excursions by Holroyd pere, mhe et fils, and floods of 
tears from Winnie. This lasted a week, and then the 
family capitulated subject to a long engagement; frank 
announcement by Sam of his intention to marry 
Winnie in September ; more alarums and excursions, 
and again capitulation by the now exhausted Holroyd 
family, generous settlements by Sam, accompanied by 


BIlvIyY 


156 


[chap. XIII 


innumerable expensive presents to whomsoever could 
be induced to accept them, and — voila tout. 

All this Billy gathered in bits, and at various times, 
from her agitated relations. She thought that they 
might have consulted her on the subject, but, as a 
matter of fact, they had been so swept off their feet 
by the tempestuous wooing of Sam that they hadn’t 
given her a thought. Now, however, her help was 
needed. It was imperative that Winnie should shop, 
and Billy was desired to give her services as a sort of 
Inspector-General of Wardrobes. 

Winnie was daintily inclined in her choice, but Billy 
would have none of it. 

“ Bet us be utilitarian,” she said ; ” you’ll probably 
have to wash your own clothes, and they’ll look better 
when they’re hung out to dry if they’ve got no holes 
in ’em ; besides, I expect a Canadian mangle is about as 
destructive as a threshing machine.” 

Billy now found her time fully occupied with 
Winnie, and she practically forgot the existence of 
J erry altogether. He reminded her of it when August 
set in hot and airless. 

“ I’m sick of Bondon,” he said, ” and I shall go off 
to Sutcliffe Park ; one can breathe there at all events.” 

” All right,” said Billy, “ do. It’ll be another week 
before I shall have fixed Winnie up, then I shall want 
a breather myself.” 

“ I suppose you’ll go to Beachaven ? ” said Jerry. 
” Sutcliffe Park’s a little too dull for you.” 

Billy looked at him surprised. It was the first time 
that Jerry had suggested a temporary separation. He 
must have changed indeed. The suggestion, however, 
accorded exactly with her own wishes. 


CHAP, xiii] BILI/Y 157 

“ Yes,” she said, “ I think I shall. I suppose you’ll 
come over later ? ” 

" I dare say,” he replied. “ I’ll let you know.” 

Jerry went off to Sutcliffe Park the next day. He 
was very glad to get away from London, and not averse 
to being free from Billy. His feelings towards her had 
changed more than either of them suspected. She had 
acted upon him electrically, she had first attracted and 
then repelled. Not that he disliked her, but she was 
beginning to jar upon him ; her characteristics were 
utterly opposed to his, she was the aggressive affirma- 
tion of everything that he was not. 

A somewhat remarkable change to occur in a man 
who but a short time ago had been head over ears in 
love with his wife ! True, but his love had been torn 
into little pieces, and then thrown back in his face. 
It wasn’t sufficiently strong to stand such violent treat- 
ment. Love is like wine, it varies according to the 
year of its vintage. Jerry’s was not originally of par- 
ticularly fine quality, and it had become a bit “ corked ” 
into the bargain. The passion which had surged in his 
shallow little soul had been distorted by jealousy, and 
inverted by contempt. Billy had, in fact, swept her 
little husband aside in the same careless way that she 
occasionally knocked a wine glass off the table. 

And Jerry was brittle. 

As a matter of fact, there was nothing surprising in 
this sudden revulsion of feeling on his part. Revul- 
sions of feeling usually are sudden. 

It was rather a pitiful state of things, and it was 
certainly Billy’s fault. Had she borne with her husband, 
soothed his jealousy, made the best of him — for, after 
all, she had married him — things might have run 


158 


BIIyIvY 


[CHAP, XIII 


smoothly between them, and, indeed, would have done 
so. Now a bit of grit had got into the wheels and 
neither Billy nor Jerry evinced the slightest desire to 
pull it out. These things ought to be attended to at 
once. 

lyord Sutcliffe and Blanche were very glad to see 
J erry, but they were rather surprised to hear that Billy 
was not coming. 

“This place bores her,” explained Jerry, “and I 
bore her too.” 

“ Really ! ” said Blanche ; “ and does she bore 
you ? ” 

“ Oh no,” said Jerry; “ she’s too noisy for that.” 

“ In other words, you’ve quarrelled,” said his sister, 

“ Oh no. We did throw things at each other the 
other night, but we’re preserving an armed neutrality 
now.” 

“ Who got the best of it ? ” 

“ I’m beginning to think I did,” said Jerry, with a 
malicious little chuckle. 

Lord Sutcliffe was greatly disturbed in his mind at 
the breach in the relations between Jerry and Billy. 
It seemed to postpone his own dreams of the result of 
their union to the very remote future. He had anxious 
talks with Blanche on the subject, and she somewhat 
consoled him. 

“ It’s best as it is, father,” she said ; “ let them 
keep apart all the summer, and they’ll simply fly into 
each other’s arms for the sheer novelty of the thing 
when they meet again.” 

And on general principles Blanche’s remark was 
probably justified. 

So it came about that Jerry dawdled away the 


BII,LY 


159 


CHAP. XIIl] 

summer at Sutcliffe Park, and Billy had a thoroughly 
strenuous time at Beachaven. Winnie was married 
at the end of September, and Jerry and Billy met on 
that occasion, were quite amiable to each other, and 
departed on their various ways again — Billy to put in 
her usual round of autumn visits, and Jerry for another 
week at Sutcliffe Park before returning to Bondon for 
good. 

But Jerry got very bored when he was once more 
shut up in his big Queen’s Gate house by himself. 
Moreover, he no longer looked forward to the return 
of Billy to end his ennui. He had done that once, and 
the result had not been satisfactory. He was certainly 
not going to fall in love with his wife twice. His 
bitterness against her had, indeed, disappeared, but 
his indifference towards her had, if anything, increased. 
He would be quite glad to have her in the house — her 
own part of the house — quite glad to see her occa- 
sionally at meals, quite glad to listen to her conversa- 
tion, quite glad, in fact, to get back to the contract as 
originally framed. 

Bondon is supposed to be an amusing place, and 
sufficiently catholic to cater for all tastes. Jerry was 
in need of amusement during those early days of 
October, but he sought for it vainly. He spent his 
days at his club, and his evenings at various places of 
entertainment ; but the theatres annoyed him with 
their, to his mind, unreal ideas of married life, and the 
music halls gave him a headache. Then, one night, he 
did find something to his taste, for he strolled into 
Queen’s Hall by mistake for Maskelyne and Cook’s, 
having taken the wrong entrance. 

He got a seat in the non-smoking part of the hall. 


i6o 


BILLY 


[CH.\P. XIII 

and settled himself down to listen to the music. It 
pleased him very much. So did the cheery voice 
behind him which greeted him as he rose to stretch 
his legs during the interval. 

“ How do j'ou do, Mr. Aymesworth ; I hope j’ou 
haven’t forgotten me. I’ve just returned to England, 
and I’ve taken a flat at Earl’s Court. You must come 
and sing to me.” 

It was Mrs. D’Arcy, 


CHAPTER XIV 


Billy came home at the end of October. But she did 
not find Jerry on the mat to welcome her, as she had 
done when she returned the previoas year. Nor did 
she see him at dinner. She dined in solitary state, 
and felt rather dull. She wanted to talk to some one, 
and Jerry would have done as well as any one else. 
She had to put up with the butler, but he was an 
indifferent substitute. 

After dinner she went into the library to await 
Jerry’s return. She felt quite amiably disposed to- 
wards him, not having seen him for so long. She not 
unnaturally expected him to reciprocate for the same 
reason. But then she pictured him boring himself to 
death at the club, whereas he was enjoying himself 
very much at Mrs. D’Arcy’s flat in Earl’s Court. 

Billy noticed that Jerry's musical proclivities had 
apparently broken out badly again, for the pianola 
was littered with songs, obviously recently purchased, 
and that worthy instrument seemed badly in need of 
rest when she tried it. She soon got tired of waiting 
for Jerry, and retired to her own part of the house, 
and shortly afterwards went to bed. 

She didn’t see Jerry the next morning either, for 
her horse came round before he was up, and when she 
returned from the Park he had just gone out. He 
turned up to dinner, however, and apparently seemed 

i6i M 


i62 BIIylvY [chap. XIV 

quite pleased to see her, though certainly not enthu- 
siastic. 

“ You are getting dissipated,” she said, “ staying 
out all night and coming in with the milk. You can’t 
do without your beauty sleep, you know.” 

“ Oh, I got that this morning. Besides, I wasn’t so 
very late j I was home before twelve o’clock.” 

"You never thought how lonely I should feel with 
no one to talk to, did you ? ” said Billy. 

" No,” said Jerry, “ I didn’t. I imagined that 
after your long holiday you would return in perfect 
health.” 

“ That’s rather smart for you, J erry,” laughed Billy ; 
" you evidently haven’t been dull. Have you been 
sharpening your teeth on the grindstone in the pantry, 
or is it the effect of the Sandow’s Exercises you seem 
to have been playing on the pianola ? ” 

“ Oh, I haven’t had a bad time,” said Jerry com- 
placently. 

They went into the library after dinner. It was 
J erry ’s suggestion. He was apparently no longer averse 
to his wife’s society. On the other hand, he didn’t 
seem particularly to care whether he had it or not. 
He sat and smoked a cigarette whilst Billy talked. 
That had frequently happened in former days, but 
there was a subtle difference on this occasion — hitherto 
Jerry’s cigarette had formed a sort of accompaniment 
to Billy’s conversation, but now it was her conversation 
that accompanied his cigarette. 

When he had finished his cigarette, Jerry went to 
the pianola and began sorting his music. 

“ Going to sing ? ” queried Billy. 

" Yes ; but not here. I’m going out.” 


CHAP. XIV] BIIyIvY 163 

“ Out,” she repeated, puzzled. “ You haven’t gone 
in for a barrel organ, have you ? ” 

He winced somewhat at her chaff. 

“ No,” he said. “ I’m going round to Mrs. D’Arcy’s, 
if you want to know.” 

“ Mrs. D’Arcy ? Who’s she ? Oh ” she added 

as her memory freshened, “ do you mean the woman 
who made eyes at you at Algiers, and told you you 
could sing ? ” 

Jerry stuffed the songs he had selected into his 
music-case angrily. Billy saw that she was annoying 
him, but she couldn’t resist the temptation of continuing 
her teasing. 

“ Don’t think I’m jealous,” she said ; “ but I’m 
curious to know what your relations are with Mrs. 
D’Arcy. Is she going to be a sister to you, or a mother, 
or a pianola, or what ? ” 

“ I think,” said Jerry, “ that your remarks are in 
rather bad taste — under the circumstances.” 

“ Oh ! ” said Billy, “ I didn’t know that they were 
as serious as all that — the circumstances, I mean.” 

Jerry flung out of the room in a temper and Billy 
leant back in her chair and laughed. Needless to say 
she attached no importance to the reappearance of 
Mrs. D’Arcy. She had told Jerry on a former occasion 
that he was quite at liberty to have women friends if 
he could get them, and her inclination was, if anything, 
to congratulate him upon his unexpected success. She 
felt rather dull though in the house by herself, so she 
sent for a taxi — Jerry had appropriated the car — and 
went round to see her people at Dancaster Gate. It 
was an unexpected honour which they duly appre- 
ciated. 


164 BILLY [chap, XIV 

“ Husband run away ? ” inquired Sydney sym- 
pathetically. 

“ More or less,” replied his sister he is at present 
engaged in duets with another man’s wife, but as that 
other man is dead I don’t suppose it matters.” 

“ Billy ! ” gasped Mrs. Holroyd ; ” what on earth 
do you mean ? ” 

Billy condescended to explain, and her mother was 
sufficiently relieved to be able to go on with her worsted. 

“ What a pity that you haven’t got an ear for 
music,” she murmured. 

Billy passed a very pleasant evening in the bosom 
of her family. She learnt, however, that she would 
not be able to repeat the experience very often, for the 
Lancaster Gate lease was falling in and the Holroyds 
had determined not to renew it, for now that the 
family had so diminished in size the house was bigger 
than they needed. An opportunity had also pre- 
sented itself enabling them to acquire the freehold of 
the house they annually rented at Beachaven, and the 
idea was being favourably considered — especially by 
Sydney, who wanted diggings of his owm in Town and 
freedom to sow wild oats, of which he had a plentiful 
supply. 

A few days later Billy called on Mabel Cartright 
and took her off to Sheen Park to play golf. They 
found the greens encumbered with leaves which had 
already begun to fall from the trees and putting became 
a sort of nightmare in consequence. No amount of 
sweeping could have kept the greens at Sheen Park 
clear in the autumn, for not only did the trees surround- 
ing them deposit their discarded foliage thereon but 
the wind kept it constantly in motion. Consequently 


CHAP, xiv] BILLY 165 

the committee wisely kept their money in their pockets 
and did nothing. 

“ Frank would be mad if he were here,” said Billy, 
as a regular wave of leaves suddenly swept across the 
green and deflected her ball, which was making straight 
for the hole, 

“ Oh, Frank won’t come under these conditions,” 
laughed Mabel ; ” he came down with me a couple of 
days ago and after the sixth hole he put his ball in his 
pocket and said he would rather play me draughts in 
the club house. It wasn’t half so bad as it is now 
either, and of course it’ll soon be worse,” 

” Yes,” .said Billy," I suppose we must say good-bye 
to golf until next year. It was in the autumn and 
winter that God created the holes at Sheen Park, out 
of leaves and mud created He them,” she added 
irreverently. 

She made a mental reservation, however, to the 
effect that golf with Langton even under these circum- 
stances might still be enjoyable for him and her, though 
neither of them had found it particularly so in the 
society of Mabel. It was the same evening that she 
detected a fresh change in Jerry. 

" Don’t forget that we’re dining with the Fairfaxs’ 
to-morrow,” she said casually at dinner. 

"Oh, what a nuisance!” said Jerry, "I was 
going out.” 

" Well, you’ll have to do so with me for a change,” 
replied Billy tartly ; " surely Mrs. D’Arcy can spare 
you for one evening.” 

" I didn’t say I was going to see Mrs, D’Arcy.” 

" Have you any other amiably disposed ladies on 
your list ? ” mquired his wife. 


i66 


BIUvY 


[chap. XIV 


Although Billy regarded Jerry’s infatuation for 
Mrs. D’Arcy as a matter of no importance, still it 
irritated her somewhat. It was the absurdity of it 
that vexed her ; she felt that in a dim sort of way it 
cast ridicule upon herself. She professed to Jerry to 
regard Mrs. D’Arcy as a sort of tame hurdy-gurdy, but, 
although that comparison annoyed him, it didn’t 
convince her. 

It was a very unwilling little husband that accom- 
panied her to the Fairfaxs’ the next night. He was 
obviously bored with the proceedings throughout the 
evening, and Billy felt absolutely obliged to essay some 
reason for his apparent gloom. So she explained to 
Mrs. Fairfax that she thought Jerry had “ caught 
something,” which, besides being a deliciously vague 
statement, had the added advantage of being true. 
She tackled him about it on the way home in the car. 

“ I hope the next time you come out with me, you’ll 
sit up and behave pretty,” she said. 

“ You needn’t worry,” he answered ; “ I’m not 

coming any more.” 

” Really ! ” said Billy. 

“ No,” he replied. “ We’ll go back to the old 
arrangement ; it suited us very well.” 

“ Oh, all right,” said Billy ; “ but there are two or 
three things that I’ve accepted for you already.” 

“ Well, you can easily get me out of them.” 

“ No, I can’t, and what’s more I’m not going to ; 
you’ll jolly well have to come.” 

He did go to them, though unwillingly enough, but 
after that, Billy went out alone, as she had done imme- 
diately after her marriage and before Jerry had craved 
her constant companionship. It will be remembered 


BIIvI^Y 


CHAP. XIV] 


167 


that people had got quite accustomed to seeing Billy 
at their houses alone and subsequently also to finding 
her invariably accompanied by her husband. But it 
was quite another matter when she again appeared 
without Jerry. Moreover, the old excuses wouldn’t 
work. It was all very well originally to say that 
Jerry didn’t go out, but Jerry had gone out, he had 
been as continually at the heels of his wife as a pet 
spaniel ; now he was never to be found there at all. 
The world drew its own conclusions and decided that 
Billy was a neglected wife. Poor Billy ! 

At the end of a month, Billy was firmly established 
in the circle in which she moved as a deserving object 
of sympathy. No cheerfulness on her part could 
dispel the illusion — her friends put it down to courage ; 
no repudiation of sympathetic suggestions could alter 
the views of the sympathizers — they put that down to 
loyalty ; no obvious indignation at being regarded as 
a sort of invalid when, as a matter of fact, she was 
sound and whole could change the verdict of society — 
they put that down to self-respect. But Billy felt that 
she had really got the last straw on her fine young 
shoulders when normally clear-sighted Mrs. Mervyn 
drew her aside one night in the hall of her flat, 
where Billy had been dining, kissed her tenderly and 
said — 

“ Poor dear. I am sorry ! ” 

Billy felt furious. 

“ Yes,” she said, “ so am I. Every one I know 
seems to have gone mad.” 

Jerry was out when she got home, but she waited 
for him. She was burning with things to say and 
she intended to say them before she went to bed. He 


i68 BILLY [chap, xiv 

came in about half -past eleven humming a song and 
obviously cheerful. 

“ Hullo, Billy,” he said, ” you’re up late. What 
price beauty sleep yourself ? ” 

“ I want to talk to you,” she answered. 

“ Right oh,” he replied ; ” fire away.” 

He helped himself to a whisky and soda and lit a 
cigarette. 

” What’s the trouble ? ” 

” You are.” 

” Me ? ” 

“ You’re getting a frightful reputation.” 

Jerry became interested. 

" Dear me,” he said, “ am I ? What do people 
say I do ? ” 

“ Well, they think you’re a regular rip who deserts 
your wife.” 

” Really ! ” he said, “ that’s splendid ; do they also 
say that I beat her ? ” 

“ They haven’t quite come to that yet, but they 
soon will. They overwhelm me with sympathy, and 
nothing I say or do will convince them that I don’t 
want it.” 

“ Well, it’s not my fault.” 

“ It is your fault ; that’s just it. It’s all happened 
because you don’t go out with me as you used to.” 

“ I used not to.” 

“ I know, but then you changed ; you can’t go both 
ways through the turnstiles. The fact of the matter 
is, Jerry, that you’ve got to come out with me again.” 

“ There we differ.” 

“ There’s no room for difference, it’s the only thing 
to do ; you’ve made me look ridiculous — oh, I don’t 


BIIyLY 


CHAP. Xiv] 


169 


suppose you meant to, but there it is, and you’ve got 
to be a butterfly again, that’s flat.” 

“ Well, I’m not going to, that’s equally flat.” 

Jerry rose from his seat as if to end the conversa- 
tion. Billy rose too, and they faced each other. She 
was keeping her temper rather well for her. She was 
very much in earnest. Perhaps that was the reason. 

“It’s your duty, Jerry,” she said; “ you owe it to 
me as your wife.” 

Jerry fidgeted about with his tumbler. 

“ I don’t owe you any duty,” he replied ; “ duty’s 
barred by our contract.” 

" There are some things that can’t be barred,” she 
said ; “ this is one of them. You’re bound to put me 
right in the eyes of the world.” 

“ I can’t help it if the world wants glasses. If the 
world saw things as they are, you wouldn’t require to 
be put right.” 

“ And as the world doesn’t see things as they are ? ” 

“ There’s not much good in trying to make it. 
Anyhow, I’m not going to.” 

Billy didn’t answer for a few moments. She picked 
up her opera cloak and put it over her arm. 

Then she turned to her husband. 

“ You’re behaving like a blackguard,” she said. 

“ You’re very good at calling people names,” he 
retorted hotly, “ when you don’t get exactly what you 
want. I don’t know that you’re such a very perfect 
person yourself. You talk of my duty to you as my 
wife, what about yours to me as your husband ? ” 

“ I never went outside the terms of our contract, 
you did. It’s because you did and now want to back 
out of it that the present state of things has happened. 


BIIvIyY 


170 


[CHAP. XIV 


I’m asking you to mend your own breakage, and I say 
you’re a blackguard if you don’t.” 

“ Mend the breakage yourself,” he replied rudely. 

“ How can I ? ” 

“ Easily enough. You complain of the sympathy 
of your friends when you go to see them. Well, don’t 
go to see them. Do something else.” 

Billy swept past him into the hall. 

Jerry watched her as she mounted the stairs. He 
heard the soft motion of her dress after she had passed 
from his sight, and some of the old attraction she had 
possessed for him seized him for the moment. 

He felt rather ashamed of himself. 

He poured out another whisky and soda. 


CHAPTER XV 


" What I want,” said Billy, “ is something to do.” 

Jim wrinkled his brow in thought. 

“ Bridge,” he suggested. 

“ I hate it.” 

“ Music.” 

“ Ditto.” 

“ Roller-skating.” 

“ The very thing ! ” she exclaimed, “ you shall take 
me to-morrow night.” 

Billy had to a great extent given up going to see 
her friends on account of their “ neglected wife ” 
theory and her unsuccessful effort to induce Jerry to 
explode it. She wanted an alternative source of amuse- 
ment and she had appealed to Jim for inspiration. As 
the result they became regular attendants at the 
Arcadian Skating Rink. 

Jim’s performance on roller skates was of the 
straightforward variety. He had no fancy tricks at 
his disposal. He had no ambition to perform acro- 
batic feats in the centre of the hall. He couldn’t even 
skate backwards. Moreover, he didn’t want to. In 
roller-skating, as in other things, Jim liked to see 
where he was going. He was quite content to 
glide industriously round the hall. He never found 
it monotonous. On the contrary, he found it 
stimulating — especially if his hands were interlaced 


172 


BILLY 


[chap. XV 


with those of Billy. On these occasions his plain, 
good-natured face fairly shone with honest enjoy- 
ment. 

Billy enjoyed it too. But she would have preferred 
something a little more lively. She was a capable 
performer and she liked fancy skating. Not particu- 
larly on account of the beauty of the figures involved, 
but because the risk of breaking her neck always 
irresistibly appealed to her. 

“ I want to waltz,” she said to Jim on one occasion, 
when they had been rinking about half an hour ; 
“ going round and round like this makes me feel just 
like an Inner Circle train.” 

“ I can’t waltz,” said Jim. 

“ Well, you’ll have to learn — I’ll teach you,” and 
she proceeded to drop poor Jim about all over the floor 
for the rest of the evening. 

“ It’s really awfully nice,” she said, as they went to 
get their skates off, “when you get into it. Of course, 
you want to know the floor.” 

“ Oh, I think I know that all right,” said Jim, as 
he painfully began to put on his coat, “ but if there is 
any part of the floor that I don’t know, perhaps you’ll 
point it out next time we come.” 

Billy had to give up trying to teach Jim to dance 
on roller skates. 

“ I think you’d learn in time, if you liked,” she said ; 
“ but I’ve never seen any one fall so awfully heavy and 
so frightfully often in my life.” 

So Jim reverted to straightforward progression and 
fell no more. Thenceforward, when Billy wanted to 
waltz, she had to make use of the services of one of the 
instructors, but they were all much too short to give 


BILIvY 


CHAP. XV] 


173 


her any satisfaction — although, of course, they were 
very capable dancers. 

“ It’s just like dancing with an awfully clever 
marionette,” exclaimed Billy to Jim one night. 

“ Reach me downs don’t suit you,” he replied ; 
“ you want things made to measure. I should think 
that man would do you all right though,” he added, 
“ and, by Jove, he can skate ! ” 

“ Where is he ? ” asked Billy. 

" There, in the centre, that tall chap ; now he’s 
coming this way.” 

“ Good Lord ! ” said Billy, “ it’s Frank.” 

Langton hadn’t seen her yet. He had been 
engaged in doing figures in the centre and now set 
out for a run round the hall. It was comparatively 
empty this evening, so that he had a clear course — 
moreover, there were no absurd restrictive regulations 
as to pace at the Arcadian so far as competent per- 
formers were concerned. And Langton was certainly 
competent. He got up speed with extraordinary 
rapidity and apparent absence of effort, and proceeded 
to let himself go. Tired of forward motion he reversed 
and continued equally fast backwards. It was as he 
flashed past Billy in this way that he noticed her — he 
swung himself round and stopped within a few feet by 
a powerful and expert break action of his front wheels. 
Billy had ceased skating and was standing at the side 
of the rink watching him. 

“ Bravo ! Frank,” she said, “ that was smartly 
done. How are you ? I won’t ask what you are 
doing here, because I can see.” 

“ I’ve only been here about twice. I usually go to 
the Olympic, but they get so shirty as soon as you 




174 


[chap. XV 


start putting on any steam that I didn’t think it was 
•good enough, so I came here instead.” 

“ That accounts for my not having seen you 
before,” she replied. “ By-the-by, I’d better introduce 
you two — Jim, Mr. Bangton, Frank, Mr. Stone.” 

Jim laughed, puzzled. 

“ How many of us are there,” he asked ; “ four ? ” 

“ I don’t know,” said Billy, “ you must sort your- 
selves; there’s only one of me.” 

The band began playing a waltz. Bangton turned 
to Billy. 

“ I suppose you do this sort of thing ? ” he said. 

“Rather,” she replied; “I love it. Ta, ta, Jim, 
for the present,” she added, and sailed off on Bangton’s 
arm. 

Jim leant against the rails and watched them. 
When they reached the centre of the room they com- 
menced waltzing. Billy was good at it and Bangton 
was perfect. It was a real treat to watch them dancing 
together — these two, so perfectly matched in form and 
skill. They were both tall and their skates added to 
their height; both possessed complete control over 
their movements, and that added to the gracefully 
careless swing of their bodies ; both were thoroughly 
enjoying themselves, and that caused them to be com- 
pletely unconscious of everything else. 

At first, at least. But after a time people ceased 
skating themselves and took to watching the handsome 
couple in the centre. Billy noticed it, as she found the 
room becoming less crowded. But she didn’t mind a 
bit, it didn’t make her self-conscious nor spoil her 
enjoyment. She had a wonderful partner and she 
intended to make the most of him. She felt that she 


BIIvLY 


175 


CHAP. XV] 

had never realized before the true delight of waltzing 
on roller skates. She recalled the last time when her 
dancing had been the centre of observation. On that 
occasion she hadn’t liked it. She had been dancing 
with Jerry. What a contrast ! 

“ Thanks awfully,” she said to Tangton when the 
music ceased. “ I've never had such a fine partner 
before.” 

“ Nor have I,” he answered ; “ we seem to fit.” 

They returned to Jim. But three is an awkward 
number at a skating-rink — anyhow so far as skating is 
concerned. Jim very soon perceived this. 

“ Go off, you two,” he said, “ and do fireworks. I 
can foozle along all right by myself. W’hen you want 
an ambulance send for me.” 

So for the rest of the evening Billy and Bangton 
proceeded to gyrate about the room with bewildering 
agility and had a really nice time, whilst Jim plodded 
along his accustomed track and had a thoroughly dull 
one. He saw Billy home at the end of the evening. 
Bangton didn’t accompany them. Jim was rather 
glad of that. 

“ New chum ? ” he said interrogatively to Billy. 

“ More or less,” replied Billy. “ I play golf with 
him a lot. He’s an awful good sort. Jerry doesn’t 
like him,” she added. 

“ No,” said Jim dryly, “ I shouldn’t think he would. 
They haven’t got much in common.” 

“ That’s just it,” she assented; “ even I am not a 
mutual attraction.” 

“ Jerry’s a bit short-sighted, you know,” said Jim. 
“ The other fellow’s eyes seem to be all right,” he 
added. 


176 


BILLY 


[chap. XV 


“ Oh, Frank don’t want glasses yet,” laughed Billy. 
“ Good night ; if j'^ou’ve nothing better to do we might 
go skating again to-morrow.” 

“ All right,” said Jim ; " I’ll come round and fetch 
you after dinner.” 

He did so, and the next night, and the night after 
that. Hitherto Billy had been content with rinking 
two or three times a week, but now she became posi- 
tively insatiable for the attractions of the Arcadian 
Skating Rink — Langton apparently held somewhat 
similar views, for he was invariably there also. Jim 
began to get a bit tired of it. He liked moderation in 
all things. Even so far as skating with Billy was con- 
cerned ? Well, he got a very moderate amount of 
that ! She usually left him after they had gone round 
the hall together half a dozen times and returned to 
him when the band was thinking of playing " God save 
the King.” 

Jim was an easy-going fellow, but he had his limits. 
He wasn’t jealous of Langton, but he did grudge him 
the inordinate share which he took of Billy’s society. 
On the other hand, it was only reasonable that Jim 
should be left out in the cold, for between those who 
can skate and those who can skate well there is a great 
gulf fixed. Billy and Langton, who could practically 
do anything they liked on wheels, were in a different 
world altogether to Jim, who could oul)'' make his go 
round in a straightforward direction. 

After a couple of weeks of this kind of thing, Jim 
began to slacken in his attendance on Billy at the rink. 
After all, as he explained, he had other things to do 
besides skate, and so he cut down his visits first of all 
to about four times a week and finally to about two. 


BILLY 


177 


CHAP. XV] 

But Billy continued hers with unabated fervour and 
Jim at last became quite uneasy about her. Not that 
he thought that she was doing anything wrong in 
continually seeking the society of Langton. He 
knew that she was quite without vice, and he credited 
Langton with similarly harmless intentions. But he 
did think that Billy was very foolish, that she would 
find her conduct commented on and misconstrued, and 
that it was due to herself and her husband not to let 
that occur. 

He resolved to speak to her about it. What right 
had he to speak to her ? Well, he had acquired a sort 
of prescriptive title to criticise her behaviour. And he 
was fond of her, he loved her, he wasn’t going to let her 
make a mess of things if he could prevent it. And if 
he couldn’t prevent it ? Then, at least, he would have 
the satisfaction of knowing that he had tried to. 

He tackled her boldly on the subject one evening 
when he had seen her home. He came into the house 
with her and had a whisky and soda. Jerry was 
out. 

“ My dear Billy,” he said, “ you’re forcing the pace 
a bit, aren’t you ? ” 

“ Meaning ? ” she queried. 

“ This rinking — six days a week, and always the 
same man.” 

Billy laughed. 

“ I always suspected that Mrs. Grundy was a 
relation of yours,” she said ; “ but if you object to my 
being so much in Frank’s company, why don’t you 
come yourself ? ” 

“ Because I think that you have a sufficient number 
of lookers-on already.” 


N 


178 




[chap. XV 


Billy seated herself in an armchair. 

“ I think you’re rather a beast, Jim,” she said; “ a 
sort of dog-in-the-manger person. You won’t come 
yourself and you won’t let me go. What am I to do ? 
Come to your rooms and help you get up your briefs ? 
That would be nice and respectable, wouldn’t it ? ” 

“ You might stay at home and look after your 
husband.” 

” Thanks awfully ! Mrs. D’Arcy’s quite capable of 
doing that.” 

“ You could cut out Mrs. D’Arcy — or any other 
woman — if you wanted to.” 

“ But I don’t want to,” said Billy. 

Jim turned on her almost fiercely. 

” Then you ought to want to,” he said. “ Oh, 
Billy, don’t think that I’d deprive you of a minute’s 

pleasure ; why, dear ” He stopped confused, 

smothered his feelings with an effort and continued ; 
” I think you’re playing it low down on Jerry.” 

" Oh, do you ? ” replied Billy, “ and what about 
him ? Isn’t he playing it low down on me ? ” 

“ If he is, it’s your own fault ; you’ve never tried 
to prevent him. You can have Jerry at your feet in 
no time if you like to try.” 

“ I don’t want him at my feet — I’ve had some of 
that already. No, Jim, my marriage cannot be re- 
garded as a success from the sentimental point of view 
— that is to say, yours, not mine.” 

“ Then make it one. You can, if you like to try. 
Give up this fellow Bangton. Oh, I’ve no doubt that 
he’s a good enough chap, but you didn’t marry him ; 
you married Jerry, and you’ve got to make the best of 
him. There’s a good deal of virtue in making the best 


BILIvY 


CHAP. XV] 


179 


of a bad husband, but you seem determined to make 
the worst of what might be a good one.” 

“ You’re an awfully good chap, Jim,” said Billy, 
“ and you’re certainly an excellent advocate, but 
you’re a rotten bad doctor, because you don’t under- 
stand the case at all.” 

She spoke with a lightness which she did not 
altogether feel, for Jim had been very much in earnest 
and Billy had a great respect for his opinion, though 
she would never have admitted it, even to herself. 
Jim had put before her in a blunt, plain way the point 
of view of the honest man who considers that marriage 
is a sacred thing with obligations independent of 
contract, and who, fortunately, still represents the 
bulk of public opinion in this country. Jim’s remarks 
didn’t alter Billy’s firmly rooted conviction that she 
was perfectly right, but it did enable her to realize, 
though dimly, that a considerable number of other 
people might be equally convinced that she was wrong. 
Her face clouded momentarily at the reflection. Jim 
saw it and thought that his plain speaking had offended 
her. 

“ Well, Billy,” he said, “ strictly speaking, I have 
no right ” 

” You have every right, Jim,” she interrupted, 
impulsively, “ and I love you for exercising it. I don’t 
know what I should do without your slating me occa- 
sionally. You make me feel like a rumpled silk hat 
that’s been nicely ironed.” 

Jim went home with the feeling that he had done 
his duty, but it didn’t give him as much satisfaction 
as he had anticipated. He was awfully worried about 
Billy. She seemed to have a blind disregard for what 


i8o BILLY [chap. XV 

people might think. It was quite clear that she did 
not intend to discontinue her companionship with 
I^angton in the least. As has been said, Jim acquitted 
him of all dishonourable intentions j but, after all, 
Langton was flesh and blood, and here was Billy, with 
an obvious preference for his society, flinging herself 
into his arms every night. Of course she didn’t mean 
anything by it, but how was Langton to know 
that ? Jim pictured himself in Langton’s position — 
and grew very uneasy indeed. But how to stop it ? 
He had spoken to the principal party involved. 
There remained Langton. He might speak to 
him. Jim didn’t like the job. He postponed it for a 
time. 

But Jim’s conscience wouldn’t let him alone. He 
increased his visits to the rink again, and he always saw 
Billy and Langton, apparently blissfully unconscious 
of the existence of any one else but themselves. He 
felt that he must interfere again, that it was his duty — 
perhaps also his inclination. It is bitter to see the 
woman you love being indiscreet in the society of 
somebody else. 

It was some time before he actually did anything. 
Then, one evening, he got Langton to accompany 
Billy and himself to Queen’s Gate. When the door 
had closed behind her, he turned to Langton. 

“ I want to talk to you,” he said, “ so, if you don’t 
mind. I’ll walk in your direction.” 

“ Do,” said the other. 

They walked for some minutes in silence. J im 
found it very difiicult to begin. Even a tactful person 
might have found that — and Jim wasn’t tactful. He 
finally introduced the subject in much the same way 


CHAP, xv] BILLY i8i 

that a clumsy servant might hand the soup — by break- 
ing the plate. 

“ I don't like your skating so much with Mrs. 
A3mesworth,” he said. 

“ No ? ” replied Langton calmly. “ I do — and 
apparently she does.” 

“ You probably think that I’m being impertinent.” 

“ Not in the least. I understand from — er — Billy, 
that it’s j'our privilege.” 

“ The fact of the matter is,” continued Jim, “ that 
she don’t realize that she’s compromising herself.” 

“ Thanks,” said Langton. “ I don’t think you 
realize that our performances are confined to the centre 
of the hall.” 

“ Of course I don’t mean that there’s any harm in 
it ; but, you know, people talk.” 

“Yes,” said Langton, with an artistically assumed 
yawn, “ some people do.” 

“ I thought perhaps you wouldn’t mind my speaking 
to 5'^ou,” continued Jim rather lamely. 

“ I don’t in the least, I assure j’’OU,” replied 
Langton. 

The two men came to a halt at the corner of the 
road. 

“ I was thinking of taking a ’bus from here,” said 
Langton. 

“ Don’t go just yet,” said Jim. “ I should feel 
much more happy in my mind about Mrs. Aynes- 
worth ” 

“ I know her as Billy,” interrupted Langton, 
warmly, “ and so do you.” 

“ Well, I should feel much happier in my mind about 
her if I knew that j^ou would do something.” 


i82 




[chap. XV 


“ Such as ? ” 

“ Need you skate with her so often ? Can’t you 
occasionally be otherwise engaged ? ” 

“ Oh, I see,” said Bangton, “ it’s a case of ‘ halves 
partner,’ is it ? ” 

“No, it isn’t anything of the sort,” replied Jim 
angrily. “ I’m not sharing Billy with any one. I’m 
— I’m a sort of brother.” 

" So am I,” said Bangton ; " a girl isn’t limited 
to one — and here’s my ’bus. Glad we’ve had this 
pleasant little chat ; good night.” 

He swung himself on to the motor ’bus as it lum- 
bered past. Jim watched him as he mounted the 
swaying staircase and half wished that he might fall 
off and break his neck. 

But Jim wasn’t feeling amiable that evening. 

So he desisted from his well-intentioned but mis- 
directed efforts to guide Billy into the path he thought 
she should tread, and she continued to choose any path 
that pleased her fancy. It usually pleased Bangton’s 
fancy also. But she wasn’t always in his company. 
She still occasionally graced the tables of her friends 
at dinner or went with them to the theatre. Billy 
was fond of the theatre, and she was not oppressed on 
these occasions by the misplaced sympathies of her 
friends, as they were sufficiently occupied in sympa- 
thizing with the sinning-in-spite-of-herself heroine or the 
self-abnegating-actor-managing hero. One night she 
had joined a theatre-party, and after the play was over 
they adjourned to the Carlton for supper. Billy had 
enjoyed the show extremely and was thoroughly cheer- 
ful and hungry as she took her seat at the table. Then 
something in the expression of her vis-a-vis drew her 


CHAP, xv] BIIvLY 183 

attention. He was staring over her shoulder with a 
curiously startled look. 

“ What is it ? ” she asked, “ partial paralysis, or am 
I coming undone ? ” 

“ Nothing,” he replied, but he seemed embarrassed. 

So did the other members of the party. 

“ Bless my life ! ” said Billy, “ what’s come over 
you all ? You’re like a lot of waxworks.” 

Nobody answered her, but some one began a dis- 
cussion of the play they had seen, and they all joined 
in it with an interest which was too pronounced to be 
genuine. 

Billy was puzzled. 

She looked backwards over her shoulder and saw 
Jerry and Mrs. D’Arcy having supper at the table 
behind her. She leisurely turned round again. The 
others were watching her. 

“ Will somebody pass me the mustard ? ” she said. 


CHAPTER XVI 


Billy walked out on to the veranda of the Sheen Park 
Golf Club for about the seventh time, and gloomily 
regarded the weather. 

“ It’ll go on like this all day,” she said. 

"Yes,” said Eangton, who had followed her, " it 
ain’t good enough.” 

The outlook was certainly depressing. The rain 
was coming down in the steady, persistent way that 
seemed to denote a determination to continue for ever 
and a capacity to do so. The sulky sky overhead was 
leaden with water still to fall, and the links were in a 
general state of sop from that which had already 
fallen. 

"We were awful fools to come,” grumbled Eangton ; 
" I knew it would be like this.” 

" Then why did you come ? ” asked Billy sharply. 

" Because you said it would clear up,” he answered. 
" Now make it clear up.” 

" It never clears up in February,” said Billy 
despondently. " I forgot it was February.” 

Eangton began to whistle, " There’s a sun still 
shining in the sky,” with mournful inaccuracy. He 
desisted, however, it seemed hardly a suitable tune. 

" What shall we do ?” he asked with a yawn. 

" I’ll put you for ha’pennies,” said Billy. 

She got her putter out of her bag and putted a ball 
184 


CHAP, xvi] BILLY 185 

along the boards of the veranda. It came to rest in a 
rapidly forming pool of water. 

“ That’s the hole,” she said, “ and I reckon I’m 
a ha’penny up.” 

“ I reckon you aren’t,” he replied, and placed his 
own ball neatly beside hers. 

They occupied themselves in this way for about 
a quarter of an hour, by which time the pool had become 
a miniature lake, and presented too large a target to 
be interesting. Moreover, the veranda began to leak 
badly, and neither Billy nor her companion relished 
getting intermittent streams of water down the back 
of their necks. They picked up their balls and strolled 
into the club-room. It was quite deserted, except for 
the club cat, which was monopolizing the fire in the 
ostentatiously comfortable manner peculiar to cats. 
Billy lolled about the room and Langton fidgeted with 
stale golfing periodicals. He pulled out a pencil and 
made a sketch of Billy on the back of one of them. 
It was rather good, and he showed it to her with some 
pride. She approved it critically. 

” I didn’t know you could draw,” she remarked. 

” I told you I was an artist,” he replied in an injured 
tone. 

“ Yes,” said Billy, “ but I didn’t know you were a 
good one. Now draw another one.” 

Langton commenced a second sketch and then 
stopped. 

“ I have an idea,” he said ; " come to the studio, 
and I’ll paint your portrait.” 

“ Splendid ! ” cried Billy ; “ and send it to the 
Academy and make your fortune. What will you call 
it — portrait of a beautiful young woman ? ” 


i86 BILIyY [chap. XVI 

“ I’ll do you at the top of your swing and call it 
‘ Fore ! ’ ” 

“ All right,” said Billy, “ I’m on. When will you 
begin — this afternoon ? ” 

“ Yes, we’ll go right back now and start the sittings 
— only you won’t be allowed to sit — and I’ll stand you 
tea.” 

And that was how the picture of Billy — which was 
fated never to be finished — was begun. 

Langton’s studio differed sufficiently from the 
normal to deserve a word of description. Even Billy, 
who was completely ignorant of art and artists, was 
struck with its appearance when she entered it for the 
first time. 

“ This makes a very good ‘ gymn,’ Frank,” she said ; 
“ but where do you paint ? ” 

It was really more like a ” gymn ” than a studio. 
A pair of iron rings hung from one of the rafters, whilst 
from another a stout rubber cord, to which a punching- 
ball was connected, descended to a staple in the floor. 
A couple of comfortable-looking armchairs and a sort 
of sofa-lounge implied that the apartment was not 
exclusively confined to athletic exercises, whilst an 
assortment of golf clubs, cricket bats, tennis rackets, 
an odd fencing foil, and a still more odd boxing glove — 
for the stuffing was coming out — gave it a decidedly 
sporting appearance, and completely overwhelmed by 
their aggressive prominence the somewhat dilapidated 
lay figure which lay prone in one corner of the room, 
together with some chipped plaster casts, a broken 
palette and some spoiled canvasses. An easel half- 
protruded modestly from behind a curtain, which also 
concealed other appliances of the painter’s art. The 


CHAP. XVl] 


BII.LY 


187 


impression conveyed was that these things were there 
in case they were wanted, in much the same way that 
fire buckets ornament the walls of our public buildings. 

In spite of its quaint appearance, however, the 
room had a decidedly comfortable aspect. Bangton 
thoroughly understood the art of doing himself well, 
his carpet was of the thickest, and his cushions of the 
softest, lofty windows reached from floor to ceiling and 
admitted the greatest possible amount of sunlight when 
there was any, rich curtains secured him from the 
intrusion of draughts, electric standard lamps abounded 
in convenient profusion, and a telephone, which he 
had just installed, put theatres, taxi-cabs, district 
messengers, and most of his friends’ houses at his 
disposal. But in spite of its heterogeneous contents, 
the room, or the studio, or whatever one liked to call 
it, was not crowded. It was too large for that. One 
might indeed have comfortably put a small Bondon 
flat inside it and still have had something left over. 

The only other room which Bangton possessed was 
his bedroom. It was a very decent-sized room, but 
diminutive by comparison with the studio, with which 
it was connected by a pair of folding doors. 

Although there was no sign of artistic activity, 
there was no lack of pictures on the walls. Billy, not 
unnaturally perhaps, at once concluded that Baugton 
had painted them. He explained, somewhat to her 
disappointment, that they were purchases. She 
insisted on seeing some of his own work. 

“ I want to be sure that you’re a proper artist before 
you begin on me,” she remarked. 

He produced a pile of canvasses from a recess she 
hadn’t noticed. 


“ This is some of my stuff,” he said rather apologeti- 
cally. “ I don’t know whether you’ll think I’m a 
proper artist or not, but they aren’t quite finished.” 

She regarded the subjects he indicated. 

“ They do look a bit unfinished,” she said; ” they 
want clothes.” 

“ Oh, I didn’t mean that, I meant that they were 
in the rough.” 

“ Well, show me one that isn’t.” 

“I’ve got two or three hanging up in my bedroom 
that are nearly done.” 

He showed them to her. They were framed, but 
not under glass. 

” When are you going to finish them ? ” she asked. 

“ Oh, I don’t know,” he replied carelessly; ” here’s 
the tea.” 

Mrs. Peters, who had been disturbed at her own tea 
to attend to that of the new-comers, had entered the 
studio whilst they were talking, and was engaged in 
laying the table with a violence that denoted irritation. 
She looked up curiously as Billy came into the room 
through the folding doors, and then departed to her 
own part of the building in the basement to resume her 
interrupted meal. Billy picked up a portfolio of 
sketches whilst Bangton officiated at the teapot. 
He noticed her occupation. 

“ Oh, don’t bother about those things,” he said ; 
“ they’re not finished either.” 

Billy laid down the portfolio and took the cup he 
offered her. 

” My dear Frank,” she said, ” you don’t seem to 
finish anything.” 

Very little progress was made so far as Billy’s 


BILLY 


CHAP. XVl] 


189 


portrait was concerned upon her first visit to the 
studio. It is true that she borrowed a golf club from 
Langton and posed to him for about five minutes 
whilst he proceeded to make what he called a “ pre- 
liminary sketch ” • but at the end of that time he paused 
to show her his method of practising " approach ” 
shots over a chair, and incidentally thereby apprised 
her of the means by which the plaster casts had arrived 
at their damaged condition. 

When Mrs. Peters arrived to clear away the tea- 
things, which she did suddenly and professedly under 
the impression that she “ ’eard a ring,” they were both 
engaged in grovelling for golf balls under the sofa. 

“ I didn’t ring,” growled Langton, emerging grimy 
and hot. 

“ No ? ” said Mrs. Peters, in the manner which 
Billy, when she came to know her, described as her 
“ defensively interrogative mood.” 

Billy’s first visit to the studio proved so enjoyable 
that it formed the prelude to many others. The 
theatre-party incident had completely cured her of 
any lingering desire she might have had for the society 
of her friends, and, in the absence of golf, the studio 
provided an excellent means of passing the time. In 
conjunction with rinking. In fact, the two formed a 
very desirable combination, and whilst the evenings 
still found her a constant attendant at the Arcadian, her 
afternoons were almost as often passed at the Camden 
Studios, as the studios where Langton lived were 
called. 

In this way the winter passed to its close pleasantly 
enough. Billy’s picture had arrived at the stage of 
appearing indefinitely in colour upon canvas, where 


igo 


BIIvIvY 


[chap. XVI 

it was apparently doomed indefinitely to remain. 
Billy was in no hurry to have it finished, for she liked 
going to the studio ; and, after all, what does one go to 
a studio for if not to have one’s portrait painted ? 
Bangton was in no hurry either. 

Mrs. Peters noticed the delay. Mrs. Peters was a 
bit of an art critic in her way. 

“ It don’t get on very fast, do it ? ” she remarked 
to Bangton one morning when she brought in his 
breakfast. 

“ No,” replied Bangton ; “ the lady is rather a 
difficult subject.” 

“ Yes,” said Mrs. Peters thoughtfully, “ I should 
think she was,” and retired to consider for the hundredth 
time who exactly Billy was, and why she didn’t want 
Bangton to dine with her ; for Mrs. Peters was not 
long in identifying Bangton’s visitor with the writer 
of the letter she had picked up. 

Mrs. Peters had for some time taken a decided 
interest in the doings of Bangton and “ his young 
woman,” as she designated Billy when speaking of 
her — though not to Bangton, be it said. Her interest 
took the inconvenient form of appearing at unexpected 
moments, being found in close proximity to the door 
when it was opened suddenly, and such-like outward 
and visible signs of an inward and insatiable curiosity. 
At first Billy and Bangton had found this rather 
amusing, but after a time it became too continuous to 
be funny. They took to sending Mrs. Peters out on 
various errands, a task which gave Bangton a malicious 
pleasure because he knew that she hated it. It 
finally developed into a kind of game between Billy 
and Bangton in which each of them sought a pretext 


BILIyY 


CHAP. XVI] 


I9I 


productive of the greatest amount of delay. Billy 
easily won at this pastime. Her fertile brain ex- 
perienced no difficulty in inventing a non-existent shop 
in some distant street as the only possible place for 
the purchase of some wholly unnecessary article. 
Langton was more prosaic in his conceptions. He 
rarely rose above the level of dispatching Mrs. Peters 
for a particular brand of pencil. Mrs. Peters suffered 
in silence for some time, but her turn came at last. 
One day Bangton sent her out for the precious pencil, 
and, as they heard the door slam angrily behind her, 
he flung himself on to the sofa beside Billy and laughed 
till he choked. Billy sympathetically thumped his 
back to prevent premature asphyxiation, and whilst 
she was in the midst of doing so Mrs. Peters appeared 
in the doorway. 

“ You can’t have got that pencil yet ! ” said 
Bangton, quite taken aback by her sudden appearance. 

“Oh yes, I have,” she replied; “ I got two last time — 
in case,” she added significantly, “ you might want 
another.” 

She placed the pencil on a table and departed with 
great dignity. 

“ Nasty old beast ! ” said Billy. “ What did she 
mean by that ? ” 

In the mean time Jerry’s relations with Mrs. D’Arcy 
had in no way abated. That suited very well, so far 
as he and Billy were concerned, for it left them free to 
do exactly as they liked, and Billy no longer wanted 
him as an escort — she had other occupations. This 
state of things might have continued indefinitely, but 
for an occurrence which altered the status in quo con- 
siderably. It happened one night at the Arcadian 


192 


BlhhY 


[chap. XVI 


Skating Rink. Mrs. D’Arcy was there with some 
friends — she wasn’t always with Jerry — and Billy and 
Langton were also there. Whether it was cheek or 
whether it was due to an utter inappreciation of Billy’s 
feelings towards her can only be a matter for speculation; 
but the fact remains that Mrs. D’Arcy left her party 
and came towards Billy with a smiling face and out- 
stretched hand, and Billy imperturbably and unmistak- 
ably cut her dead. There was no blinking the fact, 
it was most deliberately done, and Billy experienced the 
greatest pleasure in doing it. 

“ It was one straight from the shoulder,” she said 
to Langton the next day, when discussing her action, 
and she illustrated her meaning by a lunge at his 
punching-ball, which promptly rebounded and hit her 
in the face. 

“ Take care she don’t get her own back,” remarked 
Dangton to Billy, who was ruefully rubbing her cheek — 
a punching-ball hurts. 

And Mrs. D’Arcy did get her own back. 

Up to the time of the skating-rink incident Mrs. 
D’Arcy’s relations with Jerry had been of quite a 
subdued nature, and her sentiments in regard to Billy 
by no means unamiable. It is true that she was 
amusing herself with Billy’s husband irrespective of 
what Billy might think about it, but then it appeared 
equally true that Billy did not think about it at all. 
Mrs. D’Arcy, of course, did not know what Billy had 
suffered at the hands of her friends. Had she done so, 
she might have been less surprised at Billy’s behaviour; 
in fact she would have given her no occasion for it. 

As it was, Billy’s cut direct caused Mrs. D’Arcy to 
declare war — inwardly, that is to say, outwardly she 


CHAP. XVl] 




193 


was as composed as ever. The best method of attack 
which presented itself to her was Billy's husband, so 
she abandoned her attitude of platonic indolence 
towards him and began to take him seriously. Mrs. 
D’Arcy undoubtedly had the power of fascinating 
certain men — and Jerry was one of them. Conse- 
quently she very soon reduced him to a state of abject 
admiration. Then she took him to the Arcadian 
Skating Rink. It is perhaps needless to say that 
Jerry could not skate, but Mrs. D’Arcy professed such 
an eagerness to initiate him into the elusive art of 
rollers that he readily consented to go. It is also 
needless to remark that Mrs. D’Arcy was quite 
indifferent as to whether Jerry learnt to skate or not, 
so long as she could succeed in making Billy feel 
uncomfortable. 

It was Billy, however, who scored. She was 
certainly annoyed at seeing Mrs. D’Arcy and Jerry 
at the rink, and was not long in surmising with approxi- 
mate accuracy why they were there. It soon became 
quite plain that Mrs. D’Arcy was going to force herself 
upon her notice in the company of her husband under 
the impression that she would then be compelled to 
recognize her. With this object in view she time and 
again directed Jerry’s faltering feet in the direction 
of Billy and Rangton. Jerry hadn’t noticed his wife 
yet — he was much too busy with his feet — and Mrs. 
D’Arcy didn’t enlighten him, as she intended her 
presence to be a pleasant surprise for him. She 
finally managed to confront husband and wife, and 
it was such a surprise for Jerry that he forgot 
all about his feet and ' promptly subsided on to 
the floor. Mrs. D’Arcy smiled at Billy with a look 

o 


BIIvIyY 


194 


[CHAP. XVI 


of triumph in her eyes, but Billy didn’t turn a 
hair. 

“ I think you’ve dropped something,” she said, 
and pursued her way with Bangton in mazy circles. 

The first round had ended in Billy’s favour, but she 
was up against a tough opponent, Mrs. D’Arcy’s 
next move was a distinctly subtle one. She very soon 
learnt that Jerry was jealous of Bangton although he 
masked it under a show of indifference, but she was 
wise enough to see that matrimonial altercations on 
that subject would only result in the humiliation of 
Jerry and not of Billy, and would not assist the 
object she had in view. So she took a different 
line altogether. She adopted Billy’s conduct 
towards herself as a grievance and saddled Jerry 
with the responsibility for it, reproached him for 
his wife’s insults — and took care that her reproaches 
stung. 

“ If you chose to put your foot down you could 
stop it,” she said ; “ and you ought to put your foot 
down.” 

So Jerry proceeded to put his foot down. 

“ You’ve no right to insult my friends,” he said to 
Billy, with truculent audacity. 

” You’ve no right to insult me by having such 
friends,” she replied. 

It was a good opening for a row and a royal, right- 
down row they had. Billy, of course, used her cha- 
racteristic squashing tactics, but to her surprise she 
found that Jerry was not squashed. As a matter of 
fact, it was not surprising at all. Jerry unsupported 
was eminently squashable, but he now had Mrs. D’Arcy 
to back him up. That gave him a kind of immoral 


CHAP. XVl] 


BIIvIyY 


195 


courage. Moreover, he was deadly jealous of I/angton. 
He raged inwardly with the puny fury of the weak 
man who has striven in vain to get that which his 
stronger rival has obtained without effort and, indeed, 
without asking. It may have appeared that Jerry 
had been cured of his love for Billy. But is a man 
capable of being cured of that complaint ? Passion, 
once aroused, will operate for good or ill independently 
of the volition of the person affected. It is true that 
Jerry had ceased to take a pleasure in Billy’s society, 
and that he undoubtedly did do so in that of Mrs. 
D’Arcy. But if he had never loved Billy, he would 
not have required Mrs. D’Arcy as a substitute. Jerry’s 
love had been turned aside from its course, it was now 
engaged in poisoning itself — with the assistance of 
Mrs. D’Arcy. 

Billy’s position at home began to be very un- 
comfortable. She didn’t mind rows so long as she got 
the best of them, but she found that she was beginning 
not to get the best of them. Moreover, Jerry did not 
confine his quarrelling to occasions when they were 
alone together, but began to indulge in it before the 
servants. He soon perceived that this gave him an 
enormous advantage over Billy, for the presence of the 
servants restrained the acidity of her tongue, whilst 
it seemed, if anything, to impart some to his. Billy 
began to find herself pitied or despised by her own 
domestics — according to their several tendencies — 
and she felt that the state of things was rapidly 
becoming intolerable. 

May arrived resplendent with flowers and sunshine. 
The hotels filled up with their annual influx from 
America, and Dondon braced itself for a strenuous and 




196 


[chap. XVI 


successful season. It was up to Billy to show what 
she could do as a Bondon hostess, but slie wasn’t up 
to it. She had got out of the way of entertaining or 
being entertained. Still, she felt that it had to be done, 
and, anyway, it would be a welcome change to the 
“ D’Arcy Dispute,” as she termed her perpetual 
wrangles with her husband, with alliterative irritation. 
It would at least give her servants something else to 
talk about. 

Then Mrs. D’Arcy played her trump card. 

Billy had been calling on Mrs. Mervyn one after- 
noon — as a sort of preliminary canter to her social 
duties. She let herself in with her latch-key upon her 
return home, and was surprised to hear some one 
playing on the piano in the drawing-room. Unsuspect- 
ingly she went upstairs and entered the room and saw 
Jerry sprawling on the sofa and Mrs. D’Arcy playing 
the piano to him. 

“ I want to speak to you in the library, Jerry,” 
was all she said, and immediately closed the door ; 
but she was pale to the lips. 

“ Put your foot down,” said Mrs. D’Arcy en- 
couragingly to Jerry as he left the room. 

He joined Billy in the library. She was standing 
very still and pale by the window. 

“ How dare you let that woman enter my drawing- 
room ? ” 

She spoke quite quietly and apparently without 
passion, but her eyes looked unnaturally big and she 
breathed quickly. 

“ Our drawing-room,” he corrected. 

Billy crossed the room and rang the bell. Jerry 
watched her uneasily. He had seen Billy in various 


BILLY 


CHAP. XVl] 


197 


moods, but this was not one of them. Presently a 
servant answered the bell. 

“ Please remember in future,” said Billy, “ if 
Mrs. D’Arcy calls that I am not at home.” 

“ And please remember,” said Jerry with sudden 
assertiveness, “ that I am.” 


CHAPTER XVII 


It was Eady Fairborough who finally came to the 
rescue of Billy in her domestic troubles. Eady Fair- 
borough had for some time cast a sympathetic eye over 
the progress of events at Queen’s Gate. Her sympathy 
had always been less irksome to Billy than that of the 
rest of her friends, but now she was beginning to be 
very much in need of sympathy indeed, or rather, of 
assistance. One may consider that the affairs of a 
married couple have arrived at a critical stage when 
the husband announces to the servants that he is at 
home to a lady whom his wife has declined to receive. 
And yet it was strictly within the letter of the contract 
that Billy and Jerry had entered into. Billy began 
to find herself in an impossible position. She wanted 
to receive her friends, but she wouldn’t receive Mrs. 
D’Arcy. If her drawing-room was not to be secure 
from the invasion of the latter, she could hardly throw 
it open to the former. Of course the servants would 
obey her instructions as to telling Mrs. D’Arcy that 
their mistress was “not at home’’; but then Mrs. D’Arcy 
was not such a fool as to ask if she was. It was J erry 
she called upon, and Jerry was so much under her 
influence that there was no knowing what he might be 
prevailed upon to do. It was, perhaps, highly im- 
probable that he would take her up to the drawing- 
room, but Billy felt that once Mrs. D’Arcy was in the 

198 


BII^IyY 


199 


CHAP. XVII] 

house there was no telling to what lengths she might 
not go. She seemed to have no self-respect; at any 
rate, she did not let it interfere with her private ven- 
geance. Poor Billy felt that Mrs. D’Arcy was “ getting 
her own back ” with interest. 

So that when Bady Fairborough told her that she 
and her husband were going to run over to Dieppe for 
Whitsuntide and asked her to come too, she jumped at it. 

“ It’ll be an interlude,” said Bady Fairborough, 
" and you can think out all sorts of things whilst you’re 
away. Besides, you can gamble and golf, and though 
neither Freddy nor I golf he knows people who do, so 
you’ll be all right.” 

” You’re an awful dear,” said Billy. “ I’ll come.” 

” Don’t put my picture amongst the unfinished 
ones,” she said to I^angton before she left, “ because 
I shall be back in a week or two.” 

“ Right O,” he replied ; “ don’t be longer, because 
we ought to get on with it a bit.” 

He looked at the canvas complacently. 

“ It’s not so bad,” he said. 

“ Not so bad as it might be, you mean, I suppose,” 
she laughed ; ” if I’m like that, it’s quite time I went 
away for a change of air.” 

“ Oh, you will be all right as soon as I put a bit of 
colour into you. After all, there’s plenty of time.” 

“ Next year’s Academy, I suppose ? ” she queried. 

“ Or the year after; it don’t much matter, does 
it ? ” he answered. 

She fidgeted about the room restlessly, and then 
he turned to her suddenly. 

“ I wish you weren’t going away,” he said. “ I 
think you’re an awful pig.” 


200 BIIylyY [chap. XVII 

His words were prosaic enough, but there was 
genuine regret in his voice. 

“ Will you be dull, Frank ? ” asked Billy. 

He came towards her quickly, and Mrs. Peters 
entered the room. He turned on her angrily. 

“ No,” he said, “ I did not ring. Go to ” 

“ It ain’t no good,” she replied complacently, 
“ it’s early closing day.” 

Billy got up to go. 

“To be continued in our next,” she said. “ I wish 
you were coming with me. Good-bye.” 

“ I’ll stroll with you down the road,” he replied, 
and put on a hat and followed her. 

Mrs. Peters watched them as they walked out of 
the little courtyard on which the studios faced. 

“ To be continued in our next,” she murmured ; 
“ so I should think ! ” 

The next day Billy departed for Dieppe. The 
weather was splendid, and the little town looked bright 
and cheerful in the afternoon sunlight as the Brighton 
slipped in between the welcoming arms of the twin 
piers on her way to the quay, whilst the casino in the 
distance at the end of the Plage seemed to give an extra 
flutter to the tricolours which waved from its domed 
roof as if to denote its satisfaction at the advent of 
fresh English visitors with money to spend. The 
scene at the quay side was an animated one. The 
arrival of the English packet was always an event of 
interest, and, as Whitsuntide was late this year, and 
the weather was apparently under the impression that 
it was the middle of summer, Dieppe was full of people, 
most of whom desired nothing better to do than to 
lounge about in the sun and wear their thinnest clothes. 


BILI.Y 


201 


CHAP. XVIl] 


“ This just suits me to rights,” said Billy, as half 
an hour later she sipped a thoroughly English cup of 
tea at the H6tel des Bains, and gazed at the sea which 
lapped lazily against the beach at the other side of the 
Marine Promenade. She went out after tea and strode 
along the Plage and revelled in the bustle and sunshine ; 
then she turned into the town and explored until, 
having forsaken the main thoroughfares, she became 
hopelessly lost in a veritable tangle of narrow streets 
with overhanging houses whose occupants were quite 
unable to understand a word she said when she inquired 
her way. Finally, she discovered a diminutive gendarme, 
into whose ear she reiterated the words “ H6tel des 
Bains ” with such persistence that he at last grasped 
the fact that she wanted to be conducted thither. 
So Billy returned to dinner under Government escort, 
and was incidentally the cause of many admiring 
glances being cast in her direction and also of con- 
siderable speculation as to why she was going to be 
locked up. 

“ In future,” she said to Eady Fairborough at 
dinner, ” I shall go about with a luggage label round 
my neck, with directions on it that I am to be forwarded 
here in time for meals, C. O. D., or whatever the French 
equivalent for it is ” ; and then she proceeded to attack 
the menu as if she were a second Wellington engaged 
upon a gastronomic Waterloo. 

The next day broke fair and warm. The weather 
was evidently laying itself out to please. 

” The French do these things so much better than 
we do,” said Billy, as she sauntered down the quay 
side, apparently quite convinced that there must be 
an impenetrable fog at Newhaven. She had strolled 


202 


BIIvI^Y 


[chap. XVII 


down to see the boat in. It is characteristic of English 
people to see boats in, in France — English boats. 
So Billy gazed over the side of the quay and watched 
the passengers of the packet disembark. Suddenly 
she gave a shout and nearly pushed a diminutive 
cockney tourist into the harbour. 

“ Jim ! ” she cried. 

The sturdy-looking Englishman in grey tweeds, 
who was regarding a gesticulating French official with 
gloomy suspicion, permitted him to have the ticket he 
was clamouring for and turned a surprised face in 
Billy’s direction. She pushed her way towards him. 

“ Where are you staying ? ” she shouted. She 
couldn’t get very near him ; moreover, Billy always 
shouted, she said it was good for her. 

“ H6tel des Bains,” he replied, in the confused way 
that all Englishmen have when they are called upon 
to reveal their names or addresses or, in fact, any other 
information above a whisper in a public place. 

“ Goody ! ” said Billy; “ so am I. See you later.” 

She dawdled back to the hotel and found that Jim 
had already arrived. She demanded an explanation 
of his unexpected appearance. 

“ Did Jerry send you over to say that he couldn’t 
live without me ? ” she asked. 

“ Not exactly,” he laughed ; “ you see the Courts 
are up for the next few days, so I thought I’d run over 
and get a bit of a holiday. I hear that there are some 
golf-links here, have you tried them ? ” 

“ No,” she replied ; “ but you and I will go and 
break records and things there to-morrow.” 

Which is exactly what she did do, for she did the 
fifteenth hole in one. The fifteenth is a short hole, and 


BILLY 


CHAP. XVIl] 


203 


Billy's feat — or rather, fluke — was a record for the 
time being. 

She turned to Jim. 

“ In England,” she said, “ that means a bottle of 
whisky for the caddy, but Heaven knows what one 
does in France. I’m not going to set a bad example by 
corrupting this bright little cherub.” 

She gazed thoughtfully at the “ bright little cherub ” 
who carried her clubs ; he seemed about eight years old, 
and had apparently dropped out of a picture. He 
smiled into her face with seraphic innocence. 

“ Damn fine shot ! ” he said. 

Jim laughed. 

“ I think,” he said, “ you might compromise for 
five francs.” 

The days passed rapidly and pleasantly. Jim’s 
society was an unexpected treat for Billy and a very 
welcome one, for she had not seen much of him lately. 
She knew that he disapproved of her conduct in regard 
to Langton, and, although her friendship with the 
latter had not in any way caused a breach in her 
intimacy with Jim, it had certainly conduced in 
conjunction with his increasing practice to his seeing 
less of her. By tacit consent neither of them referred 
to Langton or Jerry, but they gave themselves up to 
the complete enjoyment of each other’s companionship. 
Needless to say, under these circumstances the time 
slipped by on wings, and the week which Jim had 
allotted to himself for his stay at Dieppe approached 
its end almost before he or Billy realized that it had 
begun. They were in the Casino Gardens one afternoon 
when Jim stated the cold, crude fact. 

“ The day after to-morrow,” he said, ” we go home.” 


204 [chap. XVII 

" How rotten ! ” said Billy ; “ so we do. I’d 
forgotten all about it — at least, almost.” 

They had all arranged to go back together ; Jim to 
his work ; Lady Fairborough for the London season — 
that was her work, and rather critical work too, for 
this year would be the test of whether she was re- 
instated or not; Billy to — what was Billy going back 
to ? She wondered. 

“ I don’t want to go — home,” she said. The pause 
was significant. Jim was about to make a remark, 
but she stopped him. 

“ No,” she said, “ don’t be philosophical, old thing. 
I’m beginning to understand that you ought to learn 
how to make a bed before you try lying on it.” 

She threw off her serious air and began to frivol. 

“ I wonder what sort of bed you would make, Jim,” 
she said. “ I’m sure you’d get the blankets underneath 
instead of on top.” 

“ I don’t know,” he answered ; “ I’ve never made 
my own bed. Very few people do in this world, that’s 
why they make such a mess of it when they try.” 

Billy became serious again. 

“ I know,” she said, “ I’ve tried.” 

They sat silently for a few minutes. Then Billy 
turned to her companion. 

“ Go away, old boy,” she said, “ I want to think. 
Go into the Casino and — and lose something.” 

Jim rose to his feet. There was a great love and a 
great pity in his heart for this big boy-girl who had 
made such a mess of her life. 

“ All right,” he said, “I’ll stand by.” 

Billy smiled at him as he strode off. There was 
something pleasing to her mind in that last phrase of 


CHAP. XVIl] 


BILIyY 


205 


his. He would “ stand by.” Yes, that was Jim all 
over — honest, faithful, helpful, a man to lean on. She 
felt that she was lucky to have a friend like Jim. A 
friend ? Well, he was more than a friend, he was a 
brother. A brother ? Perhaps more than a brother. 

She was glad he was gone though. She wanted to 
be alone. She wanted to think out what was to be 
her course of conduct when she got home. The situa- 
tion certainly looked like becoming an impossible one. 
She felt that she could not go on indefinitely living 
with Jerry under existing circumstances. They would 
presumably have to separate. She couldn’t divorce 
him. She had no reason to suppose that she had any 
cause to so far as Mrs. D’Arcy was concerned. And 
then that wasn’t enough. Jerry would have to desert 
her or knock her about. But it was she who had 
deserted him, and Billy couldn’t quite picture Jerry 
knocking her about. 

The thought of it made her smile. 

She got up and stroUed on to the terrace, and 
leant over the parapet and gazed at the sea rippling 
in gentle motion. She was beginning to realize the 
extent of her folly which had led to such an impasse. 
She herself had forged the fetters which bound her, and 
she had done so under the impression that she was 
constructing a ladder of freedom. Was there no way 
out ? She knew what Jim would say : — “ Go back to 
your husband and make the best of him. Cut the 
other woman out. He is only attracted by her because 
he can’t get you. Be a wife to him, and he will be a 
lover to 3'^ou.” 

A quiver of distaste ran through her. No, she 
couldn’t do that. Her pride wouldn’t let her. Besides, 




206 


[CHAP. XVII 


she didn’t want Jerry as a lover; he would be impossible 
in that capacity, he was better as he was. 

She wandered into the Casino. Jim was in the 
Petits Chevaux room. She went up to him. 

“ I’m going on to the hotel,” she said, “ see you 
at dinner.” 

“ All right,” he replied, “ I’m trying hard to lose a 
louis, but I can’t quite do it ; when I’ve succeeded I 
shall go too.” 

She proceeded to the hotel, and in a cane chair in 
the entrance hall she saw Bangton. 

“ Good I/ord ! ” she said. 

He rose when he saw her, sure of his welcome. 

“ I thought I’d have a change of air too,” he said. 

Billy laughed. 

“ I see,” she replied; “ I hope it will do you good. 
How long are you staying ? ” 

“ How long are you ? ” he answered. 

“ About twenty-four hours ? ” 

Bangton’s face fell. 

“ Oh, come,” he said, “ the air won’t do me much 
good in twenty-four hours.” 

The arrival on the scene of Bady Fairborough inter- 
rupted their conversation. Bangton was introduced, 
and, of course, invited to join her table at dinner. Billy 
dressed for dinner that night in a state of mild excite- 
ment. Her meeting with Bangton had been most 
startling. It was also rather gratifying to know that 
he had found Bondon so dull at the end of a week 
without her that he had felt compelled to come to 
Dieppe in search of her society. 

She wondered what Jim would think when he saw 
Bangton at dinner. Jim had not returned from the 




207 


CHAP. XVIl] 

Casino when Billy had gone up to dress, so his first 
intimation of the arrival of the visitor would probably 
be when he saw him at table. 

And it was. 

Jim was late for dinner, and they were all through 
their soup by the time he arrived. He had not suc- 
ceeded in losing his loids, and, in his endeavours to do 
so, had made quite a lot of money. When he saw 
Bangton, he simply gasped. 

“ How do you do,” he said ; " glad to see you,” He 
would like to have added “ drowned,” 

“ I suppose you’re staying some time,” he con- 
tinued ; “ we’re going the day after to-morrow.” 
He uttered the last sentence with a spiteful satis- 
faction. 

“ I don’t know how long I shall stay,” replied 
Bangton carelessly ; “ my movements are uncertain.” 

“ They’re certainly unexpected,” snapped Jim 
savagely, helping himself to salt, forgetful of the fact 
that he had done so twice already. 

At first Billy was rather amused by the situation. 
The strained relations between the two men were quite 
apparent, although, after their preliminary sparring, 
they sought to conceal the fact by being painfully 
polite to each other. The Fairboroughs, who were of 
course not in the secret, looked on in bewilderment. 
Taking it all round, dinner was not a satisfactory 
meal. 

It was their custom after dinner to go into the 
Casino, stroll about the grounds, and sip coffee or 
liqueurs on the terrace whilst listening to the little band 
which performed there, with occasional visits to the 
Petits Chevaux room, though Billy never stayed there 


208 


BIIyIvY 


[CHAP. XVII 


long as it was too stuffy for her taste. They went to 
the Casino to-night as usual — that is to say, the Fair- 
boroughs, Billy, and Bangton — Jim disappeared directly 
after dinner and left the field clear for the new-comer. 
It wasn’t long before Billy and Bangton found them- 
selves alone together. It was a glorious night. The 
moon was at the full and the sky was ablaze with 
stars. 

“ It’s just as if heaven had put on her very nicest 
evening-dress and her best diamonds,” remarked Billy. 
“ It’s a shame to have only one day more,” she added 
regretfully. 

“ Yes, it is,” he agreed. “ But why have only one 
day more ? ” 

“ I thought I told you our time was up,” she 
replied impatiently. 

“ I thought your time was your own,” he answered. 

“ I don’t understand,” she said ; “ you’re getting 
elliptical, Frank — it must be the French air.” 

Bangton laughed. 

“ I thought my meaning was clear enough,” he 
said. “ Why should we — go back so soon ? ” 

Billy’s eyes sparkled with merriment. 

“ What ! ” she said, “ stay on here with you ? It 
would be fim though.” 

“ Why not ? There’s no harm in it. We’re both 
on our own, and as neither of us is particularly anxious 
to go home why should we ? ” 

“ I’ve a great mind to do it,” said Billy ; “ just to 
see Jim’s face. It would be splendid.” 

“ Oh, bother Jim’s face,” replied Bangton. “ It 
would be a much better reason if you did it in order to 
see mine.” 


BILLY 


209 


CHAP. XVII] 

Billy didn’t answer him, but she was beginning to 
think seriously of the idea which she had at first 
treated as a joke. After all, why not ? Why should 
she go home yet ? J erry didn’t want her, and she 
didn’t want Jerry. Why not stay on here at Dieppe, 
where she was enjoying herself very much ? In the 
same hotel as Langton ? Well, what did that matter ? 
It was a pure coincidence that they had come there, 
and they were quite independent of each other. It 
was an unconventional situation. There was nothing 
new in that ; Billy’s situations invariably were uncon- 
ventional. The studio and the skating-rink, even the 
golf club, would probably not have the sanction of 
Mrs. Grundy. Besides, who cared for Mrs. Grundy 
nowadays ? 

Billy dismissed the subject from her mind for the 
time being ; but that night, when she was in bed, she 
recurred to it. She usually went to sleep at once, but 
to-night she was restless. The idea of returning to 
Queen’s Gate became increasingly distasteful on reflec- 
tion, and the notion of remaining at Dieppe more 
attractive. She got out of bed and pulled up her 
blind. The moon was casting a rich orange glow 
over the water. Billy opened her window and 
let the sea breeze blow on her. She took a deep 
breath. Yes, Dieppe was very nice. And Langton 
was very nice too. She almost made up her mind to 
stay. 

The next day she quite made up her mind. It was 
rather an unsatisfactory day so far as the Fairborough 
party was concerned. The arrival of Langton seemed 
somewhat to have disturbed the symmetry of things. 
He and Jim were constantly in attendance on Billy, 

p 


210 




[CHAP, xvn 

who was perfectly content in the society of either, but 
didn’t get much fun from the company of both. The 
Fairboroughs looked on puzzled. They all went to 
Aiques-la-Bataille in the afternoon. Their excursion 
was really in the nature of a picnic, and ought to have 
been a thoroughly enjoyable one ; but the antagonism 
prevailing between Tangton and Jim, although out- 
wardly repressed, was nevertheless sufficiently ap- 
parent to cast a feeling of restraint over the rest of 
them. Billy felt that the day had been wasted. It 
was this which probably finally induced her deter- 
mination. 

It was not until dinner that she announced her 
intentions, and she then did so with characteristic 
unexpectedness. 

“ Give my love to Bondon when you see it, Madge,” 
she said to Lady Fairborough. 

“ Why not give your kind messages yourself ? ” 
replied the latter. 

“ Oh,” said Billy, with magnificent carelessness, 
“ I think I shall stay a little longer, the weather’s so 
beautiful.” 

“ But, my dear girl, you’ll be so dull here all by 
yourself,” objected Bady Fairborough. 

“ I should be much more dull at home,” replied 
Billy ; “ besides, I shan’t be all by myself, Frank’s not 
going back just yet.” 

The calmness with which Billy delivered herself of 
this announcement, if anything, added to its effect. It 
completely deprived Jim of the power of speech for 
the rest of dinner, and Bady Fairborough was too 
startled by it to remonstrate beyond remarking to 
Billy, “ Do you think you’re wise, dear ? ” to which 


BIIvIyY 


2II 


CHAP. XVII] 


Billy promptly and coolly replied, “ No. I did once, 
but I’ve grown out of that.” 

Billy spent the rest of the evening in dexterously 
avoiding a tete-a-tete with Jim. She couldn’t help it 
the next morning, however, for he button-holed her 
immediately after breakfast. 

“ You’re behaving like a fool, Billy,” he said. 

“ Thanks,” she replied ; “is that anything 
new ? ” 

“ And Bangton is behaving like a cad,” he continued. 

“ Oh, leave Frank out,” said Billy, colouring 
slightly. 

“ I wish the devil you’d leave off calling him 
‘ Frank,’ ” replied Jim angrily. “ You’re such an ass 
that you don’t see where you’re going; but he does, 
right enough.” 

Billy grew angry in her turn. 

“ See here, Jim,” she said, “ if you don’t know me 
better than to make insinuations of that kind, you’d 
better hold your tongue. I’m not a wrong un, and 
Frank isn’t a wrong un either, although you’re too 
stupid to see it.” 

“ I know you’re not a wrong un,” he replied, “ and 
I don’t suppose he means to be, but you’re travelling 
the wrong un’s road, and you’d better get off it before 
you slip.” 

Billy became herself again. 

“ You’re a good fellow, Jim,” she said ; “ but I’m 
not worth taking all this trouble about. Go and 
pack.” 

But Jim didn’t pack. He went out and sent off 
various telegrams instead, and when the Newhaven 
steamer started for England it went without him. 


BILI.Y 


212 


[CHAP, xvn 


Billy and Bangton found him at their table at dinner 
that evening. 

“ I thought I would stay a little longer too,” he 
remarked. 

Jim was “ standing by,” 


CHAPTER XVIII 


Why had Jim done it ? Why had he postponed his 
departure, jeopardized his practice — for barristers can- 
not hope to retain the confidence of their clients if they 
are not on the spot — and deliberately created an ill- 
adjusted party of three, of which two of the elements 
were discordant ? Jim asked himself these questions 
without obtaining any very satisfactory answers to 
them. He knew, of course, that he had been actuated 
by his love for Billy and his desire for her good, but 
it was a little difficult to see how the fact of making 
her uncomfortable at Dieppe was going to conduce to 
her happiness. He had felt that he couldn’t leave her 
there in Dieppe, alone in the same hotel with Eangton. 
Not that he distrusted the morality of either of them, 
but he had a very poor opinion of their discretion. 
Deft to their own devices, he was sure that they 
would have done one foolish thing after another 
until Billy would have become so entangled in a net- 
work of scandal that it would be almost impossible 
to extricate her. But how would his remaining at 
Dieppe prevent that ? 

He wasn’t sure that it would, but it might delay or, 
at any rate, mitigate it. He hoped that Billy would 
reconsider her position, and return home at the end of 
a week. In the mean time the presence of two men at 
her table would give it an appearance of commonplace 
213 


214 


BILI,Y 


[CHAP, xvm 

respectability which would deprive it of all interest 
for the other occupants of the hotel. He was doubtful 
how Billy would take his interference in her affairs, 
but, with greater penetration than he had given her 
credit for, she realized his motives and appreciated the 
sacrifice of his professional interests which he was 
making. She drew him aside after dinner, and seated 
herself by him in a secluded part of the hotel garden. 

“ Jim,” she said, “ go home and do your work.” 

“ I’m doing it here,” he replied. 

“ You’re doing nothing of the sort,” she answered ; 
“ you’re merely adding to my responsibilities as well as 
your own.” 

“ I don’t understand,” he said. 

" I’m spoiling your practice for you, and you’re 
spoiling my holiday for me.” 

” That’s exactly what I intended,” said Jim ; “ it 
ought to induce you to come home. Now call me a 
cad if you want to.” 

” You’re not a bit of a cad,” she answered, “ you’re 
a sort of Don Quixote. I suppose I’m the windmill,” 
she added, laughing. She got out of her chair. She 
was looking very sweet and fresh and strong. She 
always looked well in evening-dress, although there 
was nothing remarkable about the one she was wearing 
this evening, except that it conveyed the impression 
of fitting her, not because it was made to but because 
it liked to. 

Jim regarded her admirmgly. 

“ You’re a lovely windmill,” he said, " Don Quixote 
would be a fool to leave you.” 

Billy pulled him out of his chair, and they stood 
facing each other. 




215 


CHAP, xvin] 

“ See here,” she said, “ this young person — meaning 
me — ain’t going to have her hohday spoilt, and she 
ain’t going to ruin a deserving young man’s business 
and send him into the workhouse.” 

“ And how is she going to prevent it ? ” asked Jim. 

Billy put an attractive forefinger by the side of her 
pretty nose — not an elegant gesture. 

“ Wait and see,” she said. 

So Jim waited and saw — the next night, for he 
dined alone. 

He inquired of the waiter for the missing occupants 
of the table. 

“ They left to-day, monsieur,” replied the man. 

“ Left to-day,” echoed Jim. “ Where have they 
gone to ? ” 

“ I will inquire at the office,” replied the waiter. 

He returned from his mission a few minutes later. 

“ I do not know, monsieur,” he said, “ they left 
no address.” 


CHAPTER XIX 


ran away with the best motives in the world. 
She wanted to enjoy herself, and she wanted Jim to go 
back and do his work. She knew his obstinate character 
sufficiently well to be sure that, having made up his 
mind to play the part of watch-dog at Dieppe, he 
would not have returned to England without her, and 
she was also sure that merely leaving Dieppe would 
not be sufficient, for he would have followed her if he 
had known her whereabouts. Consequently she took 
care to leave no address. She regarded her clandestine 
departure with Eangton as a huge joke, although she 
was rather sorry to leave Dieppe ; still, there were 
other places on the map where a week or two could be 
conveniently spent. 

She had no intention of being away from England 
longer than that, but the “ week or two ” became 
extended to three and that period, in its turn, to a 
month, almost before Billy or Eangton became aware 
of it j almost before ; they were really aware of it ; but 
they shut their eyes to the flight of time and tried to 
deceive themselves into forgetfulness. Their conduct 
was, of course, utterly inexcusable in grown men and 
women \ they had no business at their age to behave 
like a pair of children, and they ignored the fact that 
the world would not treat them as such. They were 
both perfectly honest in their intentions towards each 
216 


BILIvY 


217 


CHAP. XIX] 

other, but the world is sceptical in such matters, and 
they ought to have known it. As a matter of fact, 
they did know it, but they scoffed at what people 
might think. Their philosophy was summed up by 
Billy when she said, “ Blow people ! let’s be happy ! ” 

They were certainly that. They both had a 
thoroughly jolly time, visiting different places together, 
and indulging in various amusements, from golf to 
fishing, and they both naturally wanted it to con- 
tinue as long as possible. Their relations with each 
other were of the same frank, friendly nature as 
formerly, there was nothing in the nature of love- 
making between them, they were just “ pals.” 

At the same time, of course, Billy knew perfectly 
well that she ought to go home, and Tangton knew 
equally well that he ought never to have come. He 
had no right to be perpetually on the heels of a pretty 
young married woman. Even if she wanted him there. 
Still less under those circumstances. Billy had occa- 
sional qualms as to the concealment of her movements. 
But she stifled them with her usual remedy of pro- 
crastination. She would write home to-morrow — and 
to-morrow — and always to-morrow. After all, writing 
was a nuisance, and then one never had a pen when 
one was in the mood for it, or note-paper, or ink, or 
anything to say. She didn’t feel inclined to write 
about Eangton, and there didn’t seem to be anything 
else. 

At length Billy remarked that she ought to go 
home. 

” Yes,” replied Eangton, “ I suppose we ought to 
go back. We might, perhaps, put in two or three days 
at Ee Chalon first.” 


2i8 BIIylyY [chap. XIX 

So they stayed there a week. Be Chalon is a pretty 
little village on the coast. It did possess an inn, 
however, chiefly patronized by thirsty tourists on 
cycling bent. There wasn’t much going on at Be 
Chalon, but Billy and Bangton nowadays seemed to 
And their own society sufficient relaxation. They 
spent their time chiefly in sailing about in a boat, 
which they hired from one of the fishermen for a 
ridiculously small sum, and, when there was no wind, 
they lounged about and watched the perspiring cyclists. 
Billy and her “ brother ’’ — she had found it convenient 
to promote Bangton to that position — would have 
been quite content for this kind of existence to con- 
tinue indefinitely; but at the end of the week Billy 
roused herself with an effort. 

“I must go home,” she said with decision; “to- 
morrow,” she added less firmly. 

“ It’s a bit sudden,” said Bangton ; “ but I suppose 
you’re right. It’s a pity we didn’t look in at Etretat ; 
there’s golf there.” 

“ I think we might wind up with a little golf at 
Etretat,” said Billy. “ I don’t suppose a day or two 
more or less matters.” 

So they went to Etretat and had a good deal of 
golf there. There was a competition coming off, and 
they both agreed that it would be a pity to miss it. 
So they stayed for it, and, as they were both on the 
top of their game, they carried all before them, and 
then it seemed a pity to go home. 

“ Bondon will be stifling,” sighed Billy, “ after this.” 

“ So it will,” assented Bangton cordially, “ and 
this is rather hot. Switzerland’s a nice place, I’m 
told.” 


CHAP. XIX] BIIylyY 219 

Then they both looked into each other’s eyes and 
laughed. 

After which they didn’t talk any more about going 
home. 

“I’ll write to Jerry and explain,’’ said Billy 
airily. 

But of course she didn’t write. 

So they went to Switzerland, climbed mountains, 
sailed over lakes, and even got some of their beloved 
golf at one or two places. They were rather lucky in 
not coming across any one they knew. That would 
have been embarrassing even for free-and-easy Billy. 
They didn’t take any trouble to avoid such an event, 
however, for they followed the beaten track of the 
average tourist. They did so purposely, for the 
English people they met were a source of perpetual 
delight to Billy. 

There was one little cockney tourist they came 
across at their hotel at Interlaken who took her fancy 
immensely. She got to know him through acting as 
interpreter for him on one occasion — his French was 
impossible, and hers was execrable. She learnt that 
his name was Harris — “ ’Arris,’’ he pronounced it j he 
also invariably addressed her as “ Miss.’’ 

Eangton didn’t think much of him. 

“ You have got low tastes,’’ he said to Billy, “ taking 
up with a little bounder like that.’’ 

“ My dear Frank,’’ she replied, “ you’re very 
ungrateful ; he thinks a lot of you.’’ 

Indeed, Mr. Harris admired Billy’s “ brother ’’ 
almost as much as he obviously did herself. He could 
hardly keep his eyes off him, and constantly spoke of 
him to Billy in tones of awe. 


220 BII/I/Y [CHAP. XIX 

" Your brother — ’e’s an artist, isn’t ’e, miss ? ” he 
asked her one day. 

“ Yes,” replied Billy, “ a great artist.” 

" ’E don’t seem to do much paintin’,” he commented. 

“ No,” said Billy, smothering a laugh ; “ he’s rather 
too great an artist for that.” 

A day or two later the little man went away. 

” I ’ope we shall meet again, miss,” he said. 

“ I ’ope so too,” replied Billy, omitting the aspirate 
from infectious sympathy. 

“ There’s nothing so catching as dropping things ! ” 
she explained later to Eangton when describing the 
incident. 

And so the summer slipped by until the days began 
perceptibly to shorten, and even Billy to realize that 
her unconventional holiday must shortly come to an 
end. She had, of course, known that the pleasant state 
of existence which she and Eangton had created for 
themselves could not continue indefinitely, but she had 
dismissed the thought from her mind whenever it had 
entered there. Such reflections seemed out of harmony 
with lakes and mountains and sunshine, so she post- 
poned them until they should have a more suitable 
setting. That time arrived one day in September, when 
Billy awoke to the sound of running water. It was 
not the familiar splash of the pretty little waterfall 
which tumbled tumultuously out of the mountain-side 
into the lake not far from her bedroom window, but 
torrents of rain which streamed over land and water 
and blotted out everything but itself from view. Billy 
came downstairs in a somewhat discontented frame of 
mind. It was going to be a thoroughly wet day, and 
a wet day inside a Swiss lakeside hotel is probably 


CHAP. XIX] BII/IyY 221 

slightly more unsatisfactory than anywhere else — 
except outside it. 

Billy and Bangton spent the morning in telling each 
other, with diminishing degrees of conviction, that the 
weather was going to clear up, and the early part of 
the afternoon in professing not to care whether it did 
or not. Finally Billy declared that she would make a 
virtue of necessity and write letters. She sat down 
with an ample supply of pens, ink, and paper, but with 
a complete paucity of ideas. 

She commenced letters to her mother, to Bady 
Fairborough, to Winnie, to Jim, to Jerry — but she 
tore them all up before she had half completed them. 
Bangton was in all of them, she couldn’t keep him 
out; when she tried to, she found herself biting the 
handle of her pen, and with nothing to say. 

She had never realized until that moment quite 
how completely he had entered into her life. Her 
whole existence seemed to have become dependent 
upon his. If she went anywhere, it was with him ; if 
she did anything it was with him ; he it was to whom 
her conversation was exclusively addressed ; he it was 
upon whom her thoughts were entirely directed. She 
glanced at him furtively. He was standing smoking 
by the hotel window watching the driving rain outside. 
He looked a splendid type of Englishman in his neat 
knickerbocker suit, which showed off his athletic figure 
to the best advantage. He turned whilst she was 
looking at him, and jerked his pipe in the direction of 
the window. 

“ Rotten, ain’t it ? ” he said. 

She nodded acquiescence, but at the moment she 
w'asn’t thinking of the weather. She was thinking of 


223 


BII,I,Y 


[chap. XIX 

him. She was thinking how “ rotten ” it was that she 
had not met him sooner, how “ rotten ” it was that 
their jaunt must soon be over, and how fearfully 
“ rotten ” she would feel without him. 

He seemed to have unconsciously followed her 
thoughts, for his handsome face clouded, and he flung 
himself into a chair at her side. 

“ I suppose,” he said, “ this is the end of every- 
thing. I don’t like the last act.” 

“ Ugh,” replied Billy ; “ it’s beastly.” 

There was nothing in the words, but there was 
something in the way she said them which came as a 
revelation to Uangton. He got up and leant over the 
back of her chair. 

“ Do you feel like that too ? ” he said. 

He spoke almost in a whjsper, and his voice shook 
with emotion. She looked up into his face, and she 
saw something in his eyes which she had never seen 
before. 

And he saw something in hers. 


CHAPTER XX 


Both loving ; each seeing that the other loved 5 
neither knowing that the other knew ; that was the 
position. 

A word of amplification is, perhaps, desirable. Billy 
had discovered that she loved Eangton and that he 
loved her. He also had learnt that he loved her and 
that his love was returned. Doubtless, the knowledge 
had been dawning on them for some time, but it was 
that wet day in the Swiss hotel which brought reve- 
lation to them both. Their eyes had betrayed their 
souls, but their minds were unaware of the treachery. 
Hence it was that Billy revelled in her love for 
Eangton and in the knowledge that he loved her, as 
ignorant of the fact that he knew she loved him as he 
was ignorant of the fact that she knew he loved her. 
They both delighted in the secret of the other which 
they had discovered — and resolved that it should 
remain a secret. With that end in view, they put a 
guard upon their tongues, which had hitherto been free 
and unconstrained. That it was which spoiled their 
friendship. 

For it did spoil their friendship. It completely 
altered the relationship between them. Their intimate 
knowledge of each other destroyed their intimacy. 
Formerly, they passed their time in each other’s 
society, talking or not as the mood pleased them. 

223 


224 


BILI^Y 


[CHAP, XX 

Now, pauses became awkward for the first time, 
silence unendurable j they felt that they must talk 
to prevent exposing their thoughts, and they talked 
artificially in an endeavour to conceal them. All of 
which, be it said, was greatly to their credit. They 
were trying to keep their footing on the “ Wrong ’un’s 
road.” Of course they should never have got on it. 
Well, they hadn’t meant to. Billy, at any rate, had 
been warned ? Even the traveller who is warned 
sometimes loses his way. 

Eove is supposed, except by C3mics, to make the 
person afflicted happy. That may or may not be, but 
it is not the case when it is suppressed. Billy and 
Eangton now found themselves compelled to pass their 
time in sitting on the escape- valve of their emotions — 
an uncomfortable state of things in which it is difficult 
to preserve one’s moral equilibrium. It was under 
these circumstances that October arrived, and they 
proceeded to dawdle homewards. It was quite clear 
that their unorthodox holiday had got to come to an 
end ; indeed, even the weather, hitherto their sym- 
pathetic ally, except on one memorable occasion which 
has been mentioned, had now deserted them. “ De- 
serted ” is perhaps hardly the right word, for, as if to 
make up for having so long smiled on them, it now 
scowled, and stormed, and raged, and turned a very 
cold shoulder on them indeed — and a very wet one 
into the bargain. 

They put in a week at Paris. Paris, like Eondon, 
has charms irrespective of the climate, and thence 
they proceeded to Rouen for a couple of days en route 
for Dieppe. They had decided to return, as they had 
come, by the Newhaven route. 


CHAP, xx] BIIXY 225 

" This is what you call ‘ a vicious circle,’ isn’t it ? ” 
queried Billy, as she stepped out of the train. 

“ I suppose our friends would call it so,” replied 
Langton ; “ but I’ve heard that even a circle can be 
squared.” 

They didn’t stay at the H6tel des Bains on this 
occasion, but at a less pretentious one. They had it 
almost to themselves. In late October — at any rate 
when it is wet — Dieppe does not attract holiday-makers. 
Indeed, the little place presented a thoroughly depressed 
appearance ; it had ceased to be a seaside resort, and 
had become a mere sea-port. For the last fortnight 
it had rained steadily, the golf links were sodden, the 
casino was closed, and, as Billy described it, “ it was 
wery dull and smelt of fish.” 

There was certainly no attraction at Dieppe to keep 
Billy and Dangton there — except themselves. But 
that seemed to be sufficient. At any rate, they 
lingered on from day to day. One of their chief 
occupations was to watch the English boat out and 
to propose, with varying degrees of firmness, to take 
the next one ; and another — or rather the other — was 
to take long walks in the rain. They liked these 
walks, the exercise was stimulating, the presence of 
each other was sympathetic, and there was no occasion 
to talk, or if there was they had to shout on account 
of the wind. They liked shouting, it was such a 
thoroughly safe mode of conversation ; nobody has 
ever been known to shout his love ; love may break 
people’s hearts, but it will never strain their lungs. 

And gradually their disagreeable climatic environ- 
ment dispelled the caution which they had hitherto 
observed, and gave them a sense of security in each 

G 


226 BILI/Y [chap. XX 

other’s society. The weather, in fact, acted as a sort 
of chaperon. Indeed, it resembled many that one wots 
of in its characteristics. 

Romance is not usually associated with mackin- 
toshes. And yet it was in mackintoshes and pouring 
rain that Billy and Langton culminated theirs. They 
had gone for their usual walk on the cliffs at the back 
of the town, and stood for a moment watching the 
English packet as it faded from view in a mist of rain. 
They turned to continue their walk, and Billy slipped 
on the wet, chalky soil. Eangton put out his hand to 
prevent her falling, and she recovered herself with his 
support. But the mischief was done. Their sense of 
touch conquered their sense of right and wrong, 
overwhelmed their good intentions towards each other, 
swept away the artificial barriers they had reared 
between them — and they were in each other’s arms in 
a passionate embrace before they realized what they 
were doing. For one long, wonderful moment ; and 
then they separated, withdrew of their own simul- 
taneous volition. For a minute they stood, silent but 
not confused, whilst the rain thrashed their faces, and 
the wind moaned in their ears. 

Billy was the first to speak. 

" The end of the last act,” she said. 

Langton tugged at his moustache, whilst a doleful 
expression came into his face, which made him 
look curiously boyish in spite of his commanding 
physique. 

” I suppose so,” he replied ; ” I wish it were the 
first.” 

Billy laughed — she wasn’t feeling exactly merry, 
but Eangton’s rueful countenance was irresistible. 


CHAP. XX] BIIylyY 227 

“ Poor old boy ! ” she said ; “ and poor me ! ” she 
added. 

She kicked a stone over the cliff side ; it re- 
bounded from point to point until it reached the beach 
below. 

“ That would be your last act,” she said. 

He nodded acquiescence, and they turned and 
walked back to their hotel. They didn’t speak until 
they arrived there. Then he turned to her on the steps. 

" I never meant you to know,” he said. 

” Nor did I,” she replied, and went straight up to 
her room. 

She sat down in a chair by her window. She 
wanted to collect her thoughts, to straighten things 
out in her mind, to face the situation, to see exactly 
where she was, to decide exactly what she was going 
to do. Billy was not a fool, but she frankly admitted 
to herself that she had behaved like one. Neither was 
she a knave, though she admitted to herself — less 
frankly — that she had acted not unlike one. Those, 
however, were matters of idle if not uninteresting 
philosophy. The urgent, insistent question was what 
was she going to do ? She pondered long and incon- 
clusively ; she walked up and down and kicked things ; 
she wondered whether Tangton was doing the same, 
dear Frank ! — and that made her thoughts wander 
more than ever. 

Her head buzzed. She went to the washstand and 
bathed her face. Ah, that was better, there was nothing 
like cold water for a heated brain. She began purposely 
to occupy herself with trivial tasks with a view to 
restoring herself to her normal calm. She started tidy- 
ing things — she had ample scope, for Billy’s room might 


228 


BILI.Y 


[chap. XX 

fitly be labelled ” chaos " after the shortest occupation. 
It was whilst she was engaged in arranging the things 
on her mantelpiece that her eyes alighted on the photo- 
graph of Jim, which she had brought with her. Dear 
old Jim ! What would he say if he knew ? She 
wished he did know. He would have sworn a bit, 
but he would have helped. His advice was always 
sound, and she wanted sound advice. 

Then a sort of shiver passed through her. She 
knew what Jim would say: — “You’re on the wrong 
path, get off it ; you love the wrong man, leave him ; 
you must never see him again.” 

“ You must never see him again,” she said the 
words to herself in a whisper, emphasizing them as if 
she were stabbing something with each of them — as 
indeed she was. She sat down again in her chair. 
She felt faint. But she also felt that she had found 
the answer to her problem. Oh, but it was a cruel 
answer. Yes, but the only one. She couldn’t do it. 
She wouldn’t do it. She must do it. She couldn’t. 
She must ! 

She began to dress for dinner. 

She had never looked more beautiful than she looked 
that night, or more composed. Quieter ? Yes. There 
was a light in her eyes, but it was not the light of 
laughter ; that danced, this remained steady ; it was 
the light of determination. 

Dangton was surprised to see her looking so 
animated. He had expected — well, he hardly knew 
what he had expected. He, too, had had a somewhat 
troubled time since his return to the hotel. With him 
it didn’t take the form of tidying his room. He walked 
about outside in the rain, smoked furiously, and got 


CHAP. XX] 


BII,LY 


229 


his feet wet. Poor Langton ! He wasn’t a bad fellow, 
but he had got a bit out of his depth, and he had no 
conception as to how he should get within it again, 
and no clearly defined idea as to whether he wanted to 
or not. He wasn’t particularly moral, nor particularly 
wicked, certainly not particularly clever ; so he just 
smoked until his tobacco burnt his tongue, and the 
hot ashes in his pipe sizzled from the rain which 
dripped on to them from the peak of his cap. 

He wondered what Billy was thinking about. He 
hoped of him. Awfully wrong, of course ; but still, 
awfully nice. How splendid she was, her face, her 
figure, her laugh, her voice, all of her ! And she loved 
him ; that was the most splendid part of all ! Oh yes, 
awfully wrong ; but not in her ; yes, no, certainly not. 
Well, he was in the wrong, anyway. Oh yes, that was 
granted ; but he was a sinner for her sake, and she 
was worth being a bit of a sinner for. Besides, he 
wasn’t a sinner really ; nor was she ; one kiss doesn’t 
make a sinner. He mused on in the rain whilst his 
pipe bubbled in sympathy. He smoked himself at last 
into a state of mental content and moral justification. 
He couldn’t help it. Men are like that. 

But Billy altered all that after dinner. She drew 
him into the glass-covered veranda, on the roof of which 
the rain pattered with monotonous persistence. 

“ We can be alone here,” she said, “ and I want to 
say good-bye.” 

“ Good-bye ? ” he echoed her words in a confused 
stammer, as he dropped into a seat by her side. 

“Yes,” she replied, “ to-day has been the awaken- 
ing. With me it must be always or never.” 

For some moments there was silence between them. 


230 BIIylyY [chap. XX 

except for the raindrops, which seemed to repeat the 
words she had uttered. 

Then Tangton leaned across to Billy, and took her 
hand in his. Hers was like a stone, his like fire. 

“ Why not — always ? ” he whispered. “ Oh, Billy,” 
he continued, “ think what it means to both of us if 
you finish it all up now ; think what you’re giving up ; 
think what you’re going back to. God ! no, don’t 
think, don’t let either of us think, let’s just ” 

“ No,” interrupted Billy, in the calm, even voice 
she had spoken in previously, “ let’s just not. See 
here, Frank, I love you. I’ve loved you for some time, 
but I thought I could love you and play the game ” 
— her voice broke a little. “ I find I can’t,” she con- 
tinued hurriedly, “ and it’s a case of good-bye. Yes, 
it is, it is. Oh ! don’t make things worse for me than 
they are. I married Jerry; I don’t love him, and he 
don’t love me ; we’re both at liberty to go as we please 
within certain limits — but this is outside the radius.” 

Langton got up and stood looking down on her, 
half puzzled, half admiring. He felt she was right. 
He wanted to do the right thing — if he could. 

“ You mean,” he said, “ that it isn’t cricket.” 

“ That’s it,” she replied. 

Then they said good-bye. 


CHAPTER XXI 


The next day dawned grey and muggy. The rain had 
stopped, but the whole place was sloppy and everything 
looked moist and mournful. The only thing that 
didn’t appear depressed was the Brighton, as she lay 
alongside the quay, with her trim white funnels and 
her holystoned decks; but even her smartness was 
mitigated by the union jack, which hung at her stern 
in despondent, damp folds, with never a wag in one of 
them. 

It was a sorry setting for the finish of Billy's 
romance. And yet, perhaps, not an unsuitable one. 
Billy felt this as she stepped across the puddles on her 
way to the telegraph office to wire to Jerry — “ Home 
to dinner.” 

A very fiat finale ; nothing heroic about it. 

She had felt a wee bit heroic the night before when 
she had said good-bye. The situation had lent itself 
to dramatic effect and she had been rather carried 
away by it. But in the morning it was different. 
There is an element of romance in farewells, but there 
is only the infinitely prosaic about packing and writing 
luggage labels. You can’t be soulful when you are 
irritated — and you can hardly fail to be irritated when, 
having carefully locked and strapped your box, you 
find that you have left a pair of boots under the bed. 
Billy’s packing was of the tumultuous, go-as-you-please, 

231 


232 


BILLY 


[chap. XXI 

trust-to-luck and heaven-help-the-hiiiges order; that 
is to say, she turned everything out of everywhere 
on to the floor, turned everything off the floor (that she 
didn’t forget) into her box and then jumped on the lid. 
It w'as an effective method of packing in her case, for 
she was fairly heavy ; it wasn’t particularly good for 
the clothes nor the box, but then, as she used to say, 
“ one could always get new ones.” Billy never ob- 
jected to spending money, she had plenty of it. 

At last the packing and the luggage labels and all 
the little incidental irritations of going away were 
finished, and Billy was able to sit down and review the 
result of her exertions. Now that she had nothing to 
do except twiddle her thumbs, or talk to Langton imtil 
it should be time for the boat to start, she began to feel 
very down in the mouth indeed. She didn’t want to 
talk to Langton — she had done that last night. Then 
they had said good-bye ; there was to be no affec- 
tionate leave-taking to-day ; there were to be no more 
tender passages ; all that was finished. 

She stayed up in her room until it was time for 
lunch. She felt that the situation as it at present 
existed between her and Langton was intolerable. 
They must be all in all to each other or nothing ; the 
days of platonics were over. After to-day she would 
banish him from her sight. She couldn’t banish him 
from her mind, however. As she sat up there in her 
disordered bedroom amongst her luggage, her thoughts 
dwelt on him and on him only. Still, she didn’t regret 
her decision. She felt that it was the only thing to do. 
With all her faults, Billy was a straight, clean-minded 
girl, there was nothing mean about her ; she had gone 
about with Frank Langton and had enjoyed herself in 


BIIvIvY 


233 


CHAP. XXl] 

his society because her contract with Jerry entitled her 
to do so. It did not entitle her to do more, and she 
had found herself impelled by her emotions to do 
considerably more. Then she had recovered herself, 
pulled herself up on the brink, and adopted the sharp, 
decisive and obviously right method of saving the 
situation, by abolishing it. A bit late perhaps ? Well, 
too late to be pleasant, but not too late to be possible. 

And so she was going back to-day, and alone. 
Tangton might follow or not, as he pleased. They 
had agreed that it was best so. If they had to part, 
Billy preferred that they should do so in the place 
which had witnessed the conclusion of their relations 
rather than that in which they had begtm. Besides, she 
was shutting a book which she had no intention of ever 
re-opening. It would be easier for her to carry out that 
intention if she left the book in France. 

She went down to lunch. It was a melancholy 
meal, and both she and Bangton soon gave up the task 
of pretending that it was not. 

" The world is flat,” said Billy. “ I don’t care 
what an3'^body says.” 

“ Yes,” he agreed, “ and hollow.” 

They strolled down to the boat together. 

“ Queen Mary said that ‘ Calais ’ would be found 
written on her heart,” she remarked ; “ in my case it 
will be ‘ Dieppe.' ” 

It was Billy’s final effort to be cheerful ; but it was 
a dismal failure, probably because she got no support 
from Bangton who was thoroughly in the dumps. 

The train from Paris ran in and the usual busy 
scene of embarkation began. Bangton went on board 
with Billy. He wanted to be as near her as he could 


234 


BILIvY 


[CHAP. XXI 

up to the last. He wanted to talk to her, but the 
thoughts which confusedly clamoured in his brain 
refused to form themselves into words. So together 
they leaned over the vessel’s side, silent, constrained, 
whilst unemotional cranes stretched out their long 
arms laden with passengers’ luggage, which was swal- 
lowed up by the steamer as if it were some monster 
which lived upon that particular kind of food. 

At last it was time to go. The captain was on the 
bridge, various bells had rung, whistles sounded, every 
one who did not intend to cross was leaving for the 
shore ; Langton still lingered. 

“ Now, sir, if you’re coming,” shouted a voice with 
official emphasis. 

He turned to the wom.an he was losing. 

Billy suddenly felt a great lump rise in her throat. 
She sat down on a seat ; she felt she was going to faint. 
She half closed her eyes, but tried to smile and hold out 
her hand. 

I/angton noticed her emotion. 

” My God ! ” he murmured in a broken voice, and, 
turning from her quickly, made for the gangway with- 
out taking her hand. She watched him push his way 
through the little crowd of lomigers on the quay-side, 
and then he strode away without looking back. Well, 
this was not the time to wave handkerchiefs. 

Billy remained sitting where she was as the Brighton 
pushed her way down the harbour between the piers 
and out to the sea which stirred in oily motion beyond. 
It must have been nearly an hour before Billy moved, 
but so far as she was concerned it might have been a 
minute. Her leave-taking had numbed her faculties, 
it had been worse than she had expected ; she had 




235 


CHAP. XXl] 

imagined that she had got over it the previous night ; 
she now realized that it had only just begun. With 
an effort she roused herself and began to pace the 
deck. 

Up and down ! Up and down ! Who was this tall, 
beautiful, young woman with her persistent stride and 
her preoccupied air ? It was a question which many 
of the passengers asked themselves as they tried to 
pass the time during the long and somewhat monoton- 
ous crossing. They imagined that this impatient 
young person who couldn’t keep still must be in a 
great hurry to get home. 

The English coast appeared lying grey and misty 
in the distance. Billy came to a standstill beside one 
of the crew and watched it as it approached. It was 
her home. Unconsciously she laughed aloud. It was 
a short, bitter, little laugh. The sailor heard it and 
turned towards her. 

“ Home, sweet home ! miss,” he said. 

“ Yes,” she answered ; “ there’s no place like it, is 
there ? ” 

He didn’t notice the irony in her voice nor the 
drawn look on her face. 

“ No, miss,” he said ; “ that’s what I tell the 
missis. I ain’t away long — only a few hours — but 
that’s what I thinks whenever I sees the English coast. 
That’s what I thinks,” he added, as he turned away to 
his work. 

The steamer sidled up to the quay. There was the 
usual miscellaneous throwing of ropes, clanking of 
chains and outpouring of steam from unexpected holes 
in the vessel’s side, confused passengers looking for 
their hand-luggage, taking up the wrong bags, having 


BlhhY 


236 


[chap. XXI 


the said bags swiftly wrested from their hands by 
other indignant passengers, firmly convinced that the 
first were luggage thieves of the worst type ; a more or 
less lost child — that is to say, lost every other minute — 
and a completely lost dog who ran about looking for 
his owner, got into everybody’s way and was per- 
petually being trodden on. 

The inevitable English scramble at the gangways 
ensued. There was no occasion for hurry, the passen- 
gers had to go through the custom-house and the train 
wouldn’t leave until they had done so. That makes 
no difference to the average English man or woman. 
He or she will be calm under ordinary circumstances 
and frequently in extraordinary ones, even danger 
often fails to disturb their stolidity ; but, put them 
within sight of a gangway and “ Nulli Secundus ! ” 
they inwardly ejaculate, rush, trample, drop things, 
lose their tickets, and finally emerge breathless, jostled 
but triumphant at the other side in about double the 
time which they would have occupied had they em- 
ployed less energy. Billy watched the familiar scene 
from the upper deck. She was in no particular hurry 
to disembark. The boat was her last link with France. 
She was the last passenger to leave it. She felt, as her 
feet touched English soil, that that was the moment of 
her real farewell. 

The exigencies of ticket-collectors, custom-house 
officials and porters, and the necessity of finding a 
carriage did more to restore her to her customary self 
than anything else, and, as she leant back in her seat 
and watched the people hurrying by on the platform, 
or badgering politely bored officials with ridiculous 
questions, the events of the last few hours began to 


BILI/Y 


237 


CHAP, XXI] 

recede in her mind until they almost seemed to have 
occurred in the remote past. She was not permitted 
to remain long alone with her thoughts, however, for 
her carriage was invaded at the last moment by an old 
lady who had delayed the train’s departure for nearly 
five minutes by losing the key of her travelling-trunk, 
which the custom-house firmly insisted upon opening, 
“ That’s the worst of travelling without a maid,” 
she explained to Billy, “ At least, I don’t know,” she 
added, ” I should probably have lost her as well,” 

She was a conversational old soul. She didn’t care 
much what she talked about so long as she talked, and 
she had a curious habit of invariably qualifying the 
first part of a sentence by something in the second 
which rendered the whole devoid of point, Billy 
became quite interested in her at last, 

“ It is so nice to be back in England,” burbled the 
talkative one ; “ amongst the green fields and the blue 
sky ” (the fields were a dirty green and the sky a still 
more dirty grey), “ and the cows. There’s something 
about an English cow you never find anywhere else — 
although,” she continued contemplatively, “ I believe 
most of them come from Jersey,” 

And so on over a wide range of subjects. 

Talking apparently made her thirsty, 

“ Are you fond of tea ? ” she asked suddenly. 

She didn’t wait for an answer, but rummaged m a 
basket and produced a resplendent spirit-stove, with 
various glittering etceteras. 

” I always take this abroad with me,” she ex- 
plained, “ It’s the only way to get a cup of tea • but 
I never can light it,” she went on, “ the spirit’s bad. 
It’s the duty, you know,” she added vaguely. 


BILI/Y 


238 


[chap. XXI 


She managed to light it all right on this occasion, 
anyhow, and she nearly set the carriage on fire into the 
bargain. Neither she nor Billy got any tea, however, 
as the old lady finally recollected that that was in her 
box in the van. She cheered up though when she 
remembered that she had emphatically stated to the 
custom-house people that she had nothing to declare, 
and the reflection that she was a successful smuggler 
of tea more than consoled her for the loss of it. 

The journey from Newhaven to London is not 
normally a long one, but the train in which Billy 
travelled was continually being pulled up by signal 
checks. By the time they got to Croydon she learnt 
the reason, for it became apparent that they were 
running into a fog. They pursued their halting way 
amidst a chorus of lugubrious howls from the engine 
and startling reports of fog signals until the old lady 
got into an acute state of nerves, doubtless accentuated 
by the absence of her tea. 

“ Do you think we shall run into anything ? ” she 
asked Billy. 

“ Apparently not London,” replied the latter, who 
was beginning to feel quite done up with the combined 
effects of her journey and the events of the day. 

Victoria was reached at last, however — at least both 
the porters and the train seemed to be under that 
impression ; but, so far as Billy could see of it, it might 
have been Timbuctoo. London was^uried in fog, not 
the pea-soup variety, but the genuine black, grimy, 
gritty article that gets down your throat, up your nose, 
and into your ears. Billy clutched hold of a porter 
and demanded a cab. The porter was sceptical as to 
his ability to find one, but a shilling put fresh hope into 


BILLY 


239 


CHAP. XXl] 

his heart. Eventually he did find one, a fourwheeler, 
it looked like a creature of fog ; the driver might have 
been the father of fog — ^judging by his voice — and his 
horse had apparently been fed on it. Billy gave her 
address to the foggy cabman. 

“ Do you know where it is ? ” she asked. 

" No,” he replied; “ but I know where it was this 
morning.” 

The porter laughed a foggy laugh. 

“ If it don't move faster than you do,” he said, “ I 
expect it’s there still.” 

He shut the door of the cab and Billy drew up the 
windows and covered her mouth with her handkerchief. 
” Home, sweet home,” the sailor had called it. Ugh ! 

The cab jolted its way out of the station and into 
the confused roar of the streets, mysterious lights 
loomed and disappeared, shouts echoed from appa- 
rently nowhere and would have conve3^ed the impression 
of being spirit voices but for the language which was 
intensely human. The cabman got down and began 
to lead his horse, Billy only knew it because he came to 
the door to tell her so. Somehow or other they got 
into Sloane Street, and there they were lucky enough 
to encounter a link boy by literally running into him. 
He was saved from being trampled on by the horse 
because the latter had a not unnatural objection to 
having his hair singed. Billy chartered the lad with 
the torch, and, thus escorted, the cab wended its 
funereal way to Queen’s Gate. She had been too 
occupied with the moving incidents of her journey to 
consider what manner of reception awaited her when 
she reached its end, and she was too fagged out when 
she arrived to think of anything but changing her 


240 


BIIXY 


[chap, XXI 

clothes and having a hot bath. She was evidently 
expected, for she found the door open when she mounted 
the steps ; some one must have heard the cab draw up. 
She w’ent into the hall and closed the door, through 
which the fog was streaming into the house. 

Then she noticed a man standing there. He was 
a stranger to her. 

“ Mrs. Aynesworth, I think ? ” he said. 

“ Yes,” she replied, “ that is my name ; but who are 
you ? ” 

He held out a folded paper. 

“ I was asked to give you this,” he answered. 

She ran her eye carelessly over the document. 

It was Jerry’s petition for divorce, and Hangton 
w'as the co-respondent. 

It was a moment or two before she fully compre- 
hended. There was no change in her manner when 
she did so, though her heart seemed to stop its beating 
and then to redouble it. She gathered up all her 
courage, called upon all her resources to show no sign 
of emotion before this stranger, who was watching her 
curiously. 

She handed him back the paper, opened the door 
and pointed to the fog. 

“ This is not the First of April ! ” she said. 


CHAPTER XXII 


It is desirable to hark back a bit. Between Billy's 
departure and her return home much had happened. 
She had left in circumstances of domestic agitation, 
but the world had only taken a mild and languid 
interest in her affairs. When she came back, she 
walked into a veritable maelstrom. A word of ex- 
planation seems necessary. 

Her delayed return at first caused no comment. 
Jerry, indeed, was unaware that she had delayed it. 
He knew that she had gone to Dieppe with Eady 
Eairborough, but he didn’t know how long she intended 
to stay there. She didn’t write to him, which caused 
him neither surprise nor disappointment ; and he didn’t 
write to her, which was equally natural. He was 
under the impression that she was still with Eady 
Eairborough, when he came across that lady upon the 
steps of his house. She was inquiring for Bilty at the 
door, and Jerry heard her express her regret at the 
servant not knowing Billy’s address. She turned to 
leave as Jerry came up the steps. 

“You seem to have mislaid my wife,” he said 
jovially. 

Eady Eairborough flushed slightly. Billy’s con- 
tinued absence from home was making her uneasy. 

“ No one can undertake to be responsible for Billy’s 
movements,” she said lightly ; “ not even herself.” 

241 R 


242 


BIIXY 


[CHAP. XXII 

She hurried off. She didn’t wish to commit herself 
with Jerry. She wasn’t aware how much he knew or 
didn’t know. But she didn’t feel at all assured about 
Billy. 

Then Mrs. Mervyn took to calling, and Mabel 
Cartright, and Jim, and, of course, others. 

“ My wife seems to be in great request,” remarked 
Jerry to Mrs. D’Arcy one night, when the subject of 
Billy cropped up. 

” Yes,” said Mrs. D’Arcy significantly, “ especially 
by Mr. Dangton ; but he doesn’t seem to have called.” 

It was the sort of remark she missed no opportunity 
of making. But things could not drift on indefinitely 
in this way. Even Jerry was roused out of his in- 
difference at last, partly by Mrs. Holroyd, partly by 
Jim. Mrs. Holroyd came up from Beachaven specially 
to see Billy — the Holroyds had bought Sunny Bank. 

“ Where’s Billy ? ” she wailed. “ She hasn’t 
written to me for weeks. Where is she ? ” 

She addressed herself emphatically to Jerry. 

“ Tell me where she is,” she said ; “ you must 
know ; you ought to know ; it’s your business to know.” 

But Jerry merely fidgeted about on either leg, 
twiddled his moustache, and didn’t know. Finally 
he nearly fidgeted Mrs. Holroyd into a fit and did 
succeed in fidgeting her out of the house. That 
night Jim called again, he had got into the habit now 
of doing so daily. Jerry was in when he called and 
asked him into the library. He was beginning to get 
a bit uneasy about Billy himself, and Jim was the 
nearest approach to a common bond between them 
that existed. 

Moreover, Jerry liked Jim and Jim liked Jerry. 


CHAP. XXIl] 


BII^IyY 


243 


It was not extraordinary that Jerry should like 
Jim, because most people did ; Jim was decidedly 
likeable. But it was, perhaps, rather surprising that 
Jim should like Jerry. In the first place, Jim was a 
manly man and Jerry was hardly a man at all. In 
the second place, Jim was in love with Billy and Jerry 
had married her. Nevertheless, Jim did like Jerry ; 
he perceived that there were many good points in the 
little man, good points which Billy might have de- 
veloped, but which, instead, she had done her best to 
eradicate. Jim had always sympathized in his heart 
with Jerry when the latter had made himself appear 
absurd in Billy’s eyes by falling in love with her, had 
realized how keenly Jerry must have felt Billy’s treat- 
ment of him, and could even dimly perceive excuses 
for his conduct with regard to Mrs. D’Arcy. Jim 
knew that Jerry was weak and that Mrs. D’Arcy was 
strong. He was also perfectly certain that Jerry had 
only fallen under her influence because Billy had raised 
in him the desire for feminine sympathy but had failed 
to supply the article herself. Jim had set himself the 
task of bringing about satisfactory relations between 
Billy and her husband. He had been actuated in this 
course by his love for her. He had failed in achieving 
happiness by not marrying her ; but it gave him no 
satisfaction to know that she had failed in obtaining 
it by not marrying him. He wanted her to be happy, 
and, if she by her own wilful act had made her matri- 
monial path necessarily rough, he was more than ever 
determined to make it smooth. He hadn’t been 
particularly successful up to now. He had tackled 
Billy and Dangton without obtaining any good results. 
There remained Jerry. Jim had an inspiration as he 


244 


BIIvLY 


[chap. XXII 

followed the latter into the library. He would make 
Jerry bring about the reconciliation. He must make 
love to his wife again. It is true that Billy had ob- 
jected to the treatment before, but that was prior to 
Mrs. D’Arcy appearing upon the scene. That was a 
factor which had altered the situation considerably. 
Thus Jim reflected, and he forthwith proceeded to 
attempt to carry out his ideas. 

Jerrj’’ speedily gave him the opportunity. 

“ I wonder where Billy is,” he said. 

“ Do you want her back ? ” inquired Jim in his 
most subtle manner. 

“ Of course I do ; do you know where she is ? ” 

“ No ; but I know why she won’t come back.” 

“ Oh, do you ? Perhaps you wouldn’t mind 
tellmg me ? ” 

“ Well,” said Jim, “ it’s the other lady.” 

Jerry looked puzzled. 

“ Oh,” he said, “ you mean Mrs. D’Arc5% You’re 
quite wrong ; Billy isn’t that sort.” 

“ All women are that sort,” replied Jim ; “ a 

woman can’t stand having her nose put out of joint 
by another woman.” 

Jerry laughed. 

“ My dear man,” he said, “ Billy’s not jealous.” 

“ I didn’t say she was,” retorted Jim ; “ but she 
ain’t comfortable at home, and that’s why she won’t 
come back, and I can’t say that I blame her.” 

“ I suppose she’s been talking to you,” said Jerry; 
“ but I don’t quite see when. It only happened the 
other day and she went off in a deuce of a hurry.” 

“ I know,” replied Jim; “ but I came across her at 
Dieppe.” 


CHAP. XXIl] 


BILLY 


245 


Jerry became interested. 

“ Did you ? ” he said. “Was she very down on 
me? ” 

Jim laughed. 

“ Well, rather,” he answered. 

He got out of his chair and paced the room. After 
a few moments he stopped opposite Jerry. 

"Look here, Jerry,” he said, “I believe you can 
put matters right yourself if you like ; she only wants 
a lead.” 

“ Rot ! ” said Jerry. 

" I tell you it isn’t rot. You do care for her, don’t 
you ? ” 

Jerry fidgeted petulantly in his chair. Jim was 
very much in earnest, and he had a habit of looking 
people straight in the eye when he was in earnest. 
Jerry grew uncomfortable under his gaze. 

“No,” he snapped, at length; “I don’t care for 
her — at least, not in the way you mean. I did once, 
but that’s all over. I’m not going to let myself in for 
that sort of thing again.” 

Jim’s face broke into a smile. 

“ Good ! ” he said. “ I see you do really care after 
all, although you won’t admit it. I tell you, Jerry, 
I’m awfully keen on you two hitting it off together 
again.” 

Jerry laughed rather feebly. 

“ We shall never do that,” he said ; “ in the mean 
time, where is she ? ” 

“ The Lord knows,” replied Jim quickly. “ She 
left the hotel before I did.” 

“ And went off on her own ? ” queried Jerry. 

“ Well, I didn't see her start, so I can’t say,” 


BILLY 


246 


[CHAP. XXH 


equivocated the other. “ However, you’ll be hearing 
from her before long, then write and say you’re feeling 
lonely without her.” 

“ I don’t know so much about that,” replied Jerry. 

Jim departed homewards feeling not unsatisfied 
with himself. He had sown the seed and, although 
the soil might not at first sight appear promising, he 
had hopes of a harvest. He was quite sure that Jerry 
did in his heart really care for Billy; but then, of 
course, Jim could not be expected to understand any- 
body not doing so. As for Billy’s views on the matter, 
he knew that she had found the present state of things 
unbearable and he concluded that she would welcome 
a change. 

As to whether or not Jim’s words directed Jerry’s 
sentiments towards Billy into a more tender channel 
is open to doubt, but they certainly made him thought- 
ful. He hadn’t realized before that his conduct had 
driven her from home and was keeping her away. His 
reflections on the subject made him preoccupied when 
next he was with Mrs. D’Arcy. That lady was not 
long in ascertaining the cause of his mental disturbance. 
She speedily extracted from him, by judicious cross- 
examination, a full account of his interview with Jim. 
She then, to his great surprise, became quite sym- 
pathetic on Billy’s behalf. 

“ Poor dear ! ” she said, “ we’ve been very thought- 
less and now we must make up for it and give her a 
real welcome home. But the first thing to do is to 
find her.” 

She paused for a moment in reflection. Jerry felt 
that he had done Mrs. D’Arcy a grave injustice, he had 
always thought that she hadn’t liked Billy — and no 


BILI<Y 


247 


CHAP, XXll] 

wonder after the way Billy had treated her ; but here 
she was heaping coals of fire on Billy’s head — or rather, 
wishing to. Mrs. D’Arcy turned to him with a smile 
of inspired benevolence. 

“ I know,” she said. “ Detectives ! ” 

" Detectives ! ” echoed Jerry. 

“ Yes,” she replied ; “ they’ll find her, and then 
you can write to her.” 

So Jerry went to Slazenger’s, the famous private 
inquiry agents, and gave them instructions to find his 
wife. And thus it was that he learnt that Billy was 
trotting about the Continent with Dangton, who was 
posing as her brother. 

After which things came with a rush. 

Further inquiries revealed the frequent visits to the 
studio and the hundred and one indiscretions to which 
Billy and Dangton had committed themselves. As 
revelation succeeded revelation, Jerry was reduced 
almost to a state of hysteria. He couldn’t believe it 
of her, he couldn’t help believing it of her, it was 
completely unnatural, it was perfectly natural, it was 
highly improbable, it was absolutely conclusive, he 
hated her, he loved her. He swore and he wept. 

Then Blanche took him in hand. 

There was only one thing for him to do, he must 
divorce her ; oh yes, he must, it was his duty, he owed 
it to his family, to his father and to her — Blanche ; 
the honour of the family was at stake and it was in 
his keeping — and hers, Blanche’s > it didn’t matter 
whether he liked it or not, he had got to do it. 

So said Blanche. 

Then other members of the family began to put in 
their oars. They sympathized with Jerry, they 


BII^LY 


248 


[chap. XXII 


advised him, they coaxed him, they bullied him, they 
commanded him. Yes, he must do his duty, painful 
though it be ; he owed it to himself and to them — 
especially to them. 

And so Jerry was forced into the ring, a most un- 
willing combatant, but by no means the first who has 
been made to put up his fists against his will. 

And Mrs. D’Arcy ? She behaved with admirable 
discretion. She stayed outside the ropes. She did 
nothing, but waited upon events. They could hardly 
fail to benefit her. In any case, Billy would have a 
bad time of it — and Mrs. D’Arcy wanted that. And 
should Jerry succeed in his petition; well, she was a 
widow — and you never know your luck. 

Billy’s relations were affected by a varied assort- 
ment of emotions in which consternation, indignation, 
and incredulity in turn triumphed. Mrs. Holroyd 
deplored Billy’s indiscretion, but, with the assistance 
of eau de Cologne and her family bible, was convinced 
of her innocence. Mr. Holroyd, when he heard the 
news, received the sort of shock he would have done 
had he learnt that Consols had dropped to sixty. In 
such a case, however, he would have believed in their 
ultimate recovery — and so he regarded Billy. 

Sydney, needless to saj’', became an aggressive 
partisan of his sister’s cause ; but excitement at the 
prospect of a fight was the emotion which overpowered 
all others in his case. 

As for Jim ? 

He first learnt the position of affairs from Blanche, 
who had promptly taken over the direction of 
them. 

He just sat down and gasped. 


CHAP, xxii] BILLY 249 

“ But it can’t be,” he said ; " oh, it’s simply 
ridiculous. Wait till she comes back.” 

“ That’s exactly what we are doing,” Blanche 
replied grimly. 

“ But it’s all a mistake ; she’ll make everything 
clear then,” he continued. 

“ She has made everything clear now,” said Blanche, 
and declined to discuss the subject further. She, 
moreover, refused to let Jim see Jerry, and a few days 
later carried off her brother to Sutcliffe Park, where 
she felt she could more effectually prevent any wavering 
in his resolution — or rather, hers — “ to do his duty ” 
and to vindicate “ the honour of the family.” 

So Jim wrote a note to Billy which he left at 
her house to be delivered to her when she returned 
home, after which he endeavoured to possess his 
soul in patience — an attempt in which he signally 
failed. 

Jim’s note was short and to the point. It rair : — 
“ Come and see me before you do anything. Jim.” 
Billy read it in the foggy hall on the night of her 
arrival. Dear old Jim ! Always at hand to help in 
time of trouble. She put down his letter with rather 
a hopeless smile. She felt that she was badly in need 
of help just then. She called on him in the Temple 
the next day and found him in, though she hardly 
expected to do so as she thought he might be in court. 
His face lighted up when he saw her. 

“ Good,” he said. “ I’m so glad you’ve come back. 
Now you can explain everything.” 

“ It takes a bit of explaining,” she answered, and 
she handed him the divorce petition. He wheeled 
forward an armchair for her and then proceeded to 


250 


BILLY 


[CHAP. XXII 

study the document. It was rather a long one, and 
its perusal didn’t seem to give him much satisfaction. 

“ But this is absurd,” he said, when he had finished. 
“ There are about twenty charges, all over the place 
too — at the studio, Dieppe, Etretat, Interlaken 5 
Billy ! What on earth have you been up to ? ” 

“ Playing the fool,” she responded laconically. 
" Oh, of course, I can explain it all right, but it’s a bit 
rotten having to do so in court. Shall I have to go 
into court, Jim ? ” 

“ Unless you can get hold of Jerry,” he answered. 

Billy flushed. 

“ I can’t,” she replied. “ Blanche has done that. 
I’ve been talking to her this morning over the tele- 
phone.” 

She gave a bitter little laugh and continued — 

“ I reckon that between us we made the wires 
hot.” 

Jim got out of his chair impatiently. 

“ My dear girl,” he said, “ I told you to come to me 
before you did anything.” 

“ My dear Jim,” she replied, “ I wouldn’t have 
missed that little conversation with Blanche for 
worlds. She says the honour of the family is in her 
hands — if it stays there much longer she’ll ruin the 
varnish.” 

“ Did jmu tell her that ? ” 

“ Something like it, only more so,” replied Billy 
complacently. 

Jim threw up his hands with a gesture of despair. 
He wasn’t much of a diplomatist himself, but Billy 
was hopeless. 

Billy settled herself more comfortably in her chair. 


CHAP, xxii] BILLY 251 

“ Now, Father Confessor,” she said, “ I’ll tell you 
all about it.” 

She commenced the story of her peregrinations, 
whilst Jim listened with attentive but ever-lengthening 
face. Suddenly he started. 

“ Stop ! ” he exclaimed. “ Don’t tell me any 
more. I forgot. They know I was at Dieppe. Good 
Lord ! They might call me as a witness.” 

“ Well,” said Billy, “ you could lie, couldn’t you ? 
Oh no, I don’t suppose you could,” she added re- 
flectively ; " you wouldn’t know how to.” 

The upshot of her conversation with Jim was that 
Billy shortly afterwards found herself interviewing, or 
rather, being interviewed by. Sir Richard Maitland, 
senior partner of the firm of solicitors famous for their 
skill in handling causes celebres. Sir Richard might be 
described as the de Lesseps of divorce ; certainly Billy’s 
case could not have been placed in better hands, but 
she regarded him merel}'' as a troublesome old gentle- 
man with a penchant for asking ridiculous questions 
and an irritating habit of twiddling his watch- 
chain. 

“ Mr. Langton must be communicated with,” he 
said, as he indicated that the consultation was over by 
touching a bell ; " but not by you. I’ll look after that. 
The less you see of him the better,” he added signifi- 
cantly. 

” Thanks,” said Billy, “ you seem to have a very 
poor opinion of me.” 

Sir Richard twiddled his watch-chain. 

“ I think you said that you are still staying at 
Queen’s Gate ? ” 

“Yes, my husband left it at my disposal.” 


252 BIIvI/Y [chap, xxh 

“ I think you would be wise to stay with your 
people." 

“ I shouldn’t be wise long,” she replied, “ for they’d 
drive me out of my mind." 

So she went back to Queen’s Gate, where she found 
lyangton waiting for her. He had followed her across 
the Channel by the next boat, and, on his return to the 
studio, had himself been served with the petition. He 
waved the offending document in his hand. 

“ Good-bye be bio wed,” he said ; “ we’re both on 
in this act.’’ 


CHAPTER XXIII 


" It is absolutely necessary that you and Mr. Langton 
should not see each other until after this case is over,” 
said Sir Richard Maitland. 

Billy’s mouth curved mutinously. 

“ Why ? ” she asked. 

“ Because it’s indiscreet, it will provoke comment at 
the trial.” 

“ I should have thought they’d got enough to talk 
about as it is,” she replied. 

“ Is that any reason why you should give them 
more ? ” he answered. “ Perhaps you will appreciate 
that my advice is well founded when I tell you that 
Slazenger’s men are watching you and Mr. Eangton, 
and between you you’re keeping their pencils and 
notebooks pretty busy.” 

“ But I’ve done nothing wrong,” she objected. 

“ Let us see,” said Sir Richard. He commenced to 
tabulate her offences on his fingers. “You are living 
by yourself at Queen’s Gate ; Mr. Langton calls practi- 
cally every day — which, by the way, he never did when 
your husband was there ; he has Imrch with you very 
often, sometimes tea, on one occasion you went to a 
theatre with him, and on another ” 

“ Stop ! stop ! ” cried Billy, “ one would think 
that you were the Recording Angel and these were 
sins.” 


*53 


254 




[chap. XXIII 

“ They’re indiscretions,” said Sir Richard, " and 
I warn you that they will be fatal ones unless they’re 
stopped. What is more, I’m afraid that I cannot 
continue to look after your interests if you persist in 
disregarding my advice.” 

Billy took about a minute for reflection. She 
could occasionally see the obvious. 

“ All right,” she said ; “ I’ve no doubt you’re right. 
I won’t see him any more — after to-day.” 

" To-day ? ” he queried. 

” Mr. Langton is coming to lunch.” 

Sir Richard twiddled his watch-chain violently. 

“ Can’t you put him off ? ” he asked. 

“ No,” she said, “ I must explain my taking the 
pledge.” 

Sir Richard laughed. 

” Total abstinence is absolutely essential in these 
cases. Before yours is over you will understand why. 
But I suppose Access and Opportunity is a doctrine 
you’ve never heard of.” 

“ No,” said Billy, “ and I don’t want to. It 
doesn’t sound a nice one.” 

Her conversation with Sir Richard took place some 
three months after the service of the petition upon 
herself and Rangton. Great as had been the shock 
occasioned her by that event, she had been too fully 
occupied with the bustle and excitement of preparation 
for the trial, constant interviews with her solicitors, 
with sympathetic and indignant friends, and with 
Rangton, to feel her position acutely or to brood over 
her wrongs. She and Langton were represented by 
different solicitors. Sir Richard insisted upon this; 
but, although they were thus kept apart from each 


BILLY 


255 


CHAP, xxni] 

other so far as the actual conduct of the case was 
concerned, they lost no opportunity of being in each 
other’s society. Her reunion with Langton had been 
the one consoling feature of the situation to Billy. 
She had, indeed, managed to extract a considerable 
measure of happiness out of it. It was therefore with 
very reluctant lips that she told him at lunch of Sir 
Richard’s ultimatum. As she expected, he did not 
accept the situation meekly. He rose from his chair 
impatiently and strode about the room. 

“ What a set of rotters these beggars are,” he said, 
” with their doctrine of Access and Opportunity ! 
One would imagine that no lawyer had ever come across 
a decent-minded man or woman in his life. However, 
I suppose we’ve got to do what they tell us. After 
all. they’re on the bridge, aren’t they ? ” 

“ Anyhow,” she said, “ it isn’t good-bye for ever 
this time.” 

“ No,” he replied, “ we will never say that any 
more.” 

There was a peculiar emphasis in his last words 
that attracted Billy’s attention. 

“ What do you mean ? ” she asked. 

He seated himself beside her and took her hands 
in his. 

“ How could you and I ever say that now ? ” he 
said. 

She turned to him. 

“ Do you really feel like that, Frank ? ” she 
murmured. 

“ Yes,” he replied ; “ don’t you ? ” 

She got up from her seat and walked to the window ; 
he followed her. 


256 BIIyIvY [CHAP. XXIII 

“ It’s only a half-finished picture,” she said 
chokingly. 

“ Need it always be ? ” he asked. 

He saw the look of reproach in her eyes and hastened 
to explain. 

“ I mean — this case — we might lose.” 

” And then ? ” 

“ I will marry you, darling.” 

She turned a startled face towards him. 

“ Frank,” she said, “ do you think there’s a chance 
of our losing ? ” 

“ Well,” he answered, “ my man don’t seem very 
sanguine ; I don’t know what your man thinks.” 

“ Nor do I,” she replied'; ” he’s not the sort of man 
to tell anybody what he thinks.” 

She dirtied her fingers in an aimless attempt to 
draw figures on the window-pane. 

“ We mustn’t lose ; we mustn’t. We’ve got to 
pull this game off, Frank, you and I. We’re perfectly 
innocent, we mustn’t lose — we can’t lose.” 

He drew her to his arms, he was about to kiss her, 
but she repulsed him gently. 

“ No,” she said, ” we’ve played the game so far ; 
let’s keep it up.” 

He released her at once. 

“ Oh, Billy,” he said, ” if you knew how I loved 
you ! ” 

She turned on him almost fiercely. 

“ What about me ? ” she cried ; ” what about my 
love ? Do you think that I don’t want to kiss you ? 
There ! that’s over,” she continued more gently, 
‘‘ let’s be worthy of each other.” 

” I shall never be worthy of you,” he replied. 


CHAP. XXIIl] 


BII^IyY 


257 


“ Now you’re talking rot,” she answered. 

Her slangy retort cleared the air for the time being 
of the sentiment with which it was charged, and they 
relapsed into their customary attitude towards each 
other, and spent a thoroughly enjoyable afternoon 
together. But sentiment took the lead again when 
Bangton rose to go. 

Billy held out her hand to him, and he held out his 
arms to her. 

“ We shan’t see each other again for months,” he 
said. 

And Billy capitulated. 

“ Don’t let us write,” she said ; “ let us remember 
this.” 

“ Always and always,” he replied. 

“ Sometimes,” he continued, “ I wish we might 
lose this wretched case.” 

“ Well,” she answered, “ the worst may come to 
the worst,” 

“ Then,” he said, “ Kismet ! The best shall come 
to the best. You could bear it with me, dear, couldn’t 
you ? ” 

” I could bear anything with you, Frank,” she 
replied. “ Good-bye.” 

Then succeeded the weary process of waiting, 
waiting for her case to come on. Her solicitors no 
longer required her constant attendance at their office, 
her friends could not keep their sympathy and indigna- 
tion perpetually at boiling-point to stimulate her, and 
she had lost Bangton. She often wondered in the 
days that followed her last interview with him whether 
she would have been able to live up to her farewell to 
him at Dieppe. She thought she would have been. 

s 


258 




[chap, xxiii 


Then she had braced herself for a great effort and she 
had succeeded. But to do it twice was quite another 
matter. Besides, things had been different then. 
She had loved him, but she had withdrawn herself 
from him as soon as their love had foimd each other 
out. Now, the screen was down, the veil was torn, 
and she had been fanning the flame instead of quenching 
it. It is true that she had “ played the game.” Once 
they had kissed at Dieppe — and once again at Queen’s 
Gate. That was all. A trivial matter ? No, not to 
the woman who loves. Billy had known that, and she 
had flown from Dangton in her strength. But she had 
returned to him in her weakness. 

She knew, however, that Sir Richard was right. 
Total abstinence until the case was over. And then ? 
She didn’t know. Her heart told her that she could 
never regard Dangton as anything but a lover ; her 
limited notions of right and wrong forbade her to 
treat him as anything but a friend. Supposing she lost 
the case ? She couldn’t lose it ; she had done nothing 
really wrong. But supposing ? — well, she had Frank 
— and Madge Fairborough had “ found her way back.” 

Of course there was Jim ? Jim was a dear, but he 
wasn’t very helpful in the present crisis. He couldn’t 
make up to Billy for the absence of Dangton. He 
tried to and she enjoyed his society, but she soon 
discovered that in order to give her the benefit of it 
he was neglecting his practice. So she put her foot 
down on that. 

“ I shall go home to Ma,” she said. 

“It’s the best thing to do,” acquiesced Jim; 
“ although you’ll be a bit of a show at Beachaven, 
won’t you ? ” 


CHAP. XXIIl] 




259 


Billy laughed. 

“ I don’t suppose Beachaven knows,” she said. 
The Daily Mail hasn’t honoured me with a paragraph 
yet, and that’s the only paper they read ; the local 
paper’s not exactly a sleuth hound, and I don’t suppose 
my own people have been chatty on the subject. 
Besides, I’m not an important person like a Gaiety 
girl, and Jerry’s only half a peer.” 

So she went to Beachaven, which was much too 
busily engaged at the moment in discussing whether 
its foreshore was going to be washed away by the 
encroachment of the sea to bother about her affairs. 
There she set herself to endure the long spell of waiting 
which must ensue before her case could come on, and, 
by way of occupation, played the worst golf that she’d 
ever done in her life. 

Langton occupied himself with golf also, and found 
that he was playing better than he had ever done 
before. But love affects men and women in different 
ways. 

For about a fortnight after Billy’s departure to 
Beachaven, Tangton was acutely miserable. Acute 
misery with him took the form of late nights at the 
club, bad bridge and indifferent billiards. Then he 
rallied a bit. After all, why be miserable ? Billy 
loved him ; that was the great thing. And there 
wasn’t going to be any more silly rot about saying 
good-bye for ever either. Of course there was that 
beastly case. They had been a pair of silly fools to let 
themselves in for a mess like that. Well, they had 
got to get out of it, that was all. They’d get out of it 
all right. He’d probably make a bit of an ass of 
himself in the witness-box, but that wouldn’t last long. 


26o BILIyY [chap, xxm 

and Billy was sure to be splendid ; she’d pull him 
through. Suppose she didn’t pull him through ? 
►Suppose they lost ? Oh, then they would have to 
marry. They would have the satisfaction of knowing 
that they loved each other. Still, it oughtn’t to come 
to that. It wasn’t pleasant to be labelled “ unclean.” 

He called on his solicitor. 

“ Retain the best man for me you can get,” he said. 

So Mr. Courtney Hope, K.C., was retained. 
Courtney Hope possessed one of the finest brogues 
that Ireland had recently exported, also a sanguine 
temperament. He took a very rosy view of Langton’s 
case, especially when he learnt that no damages were 
claimed, possibly on that account. 

“ My dearr surr,” he said to Bangton, " you’rre aril 
right. Ron away and play.” 

Bangton had insisted upon a preliminary con- 
ference as soon as his counsel had been retained. 
“ I always like to see the jockey,” he said. 

Courtney Hope’s cheering words were as balm of 
Gilead to Bangton, for his solicitor had not been 
optimistic up to then, though he now became so. So 
he adopted the advice that had been given him, 
collected his favourite golf clubs, shut up his studio, 
and started on a golfing tour. He discovered to his 
delight that he was right on his game, perhaps due to 
the feeling that his case was in the hands of those who 
believed in it, perhaps to the relief of not having to 
bother about it himself any more, perhaps merely to 
the fact that he had not played for some time and 
therefore came to the game with renewed zest. The 
fact remains that he played so well on the various 
courses he visited that he began to take his game 


BILI.Y 


26 i 


CHAP. XXIIl] 


intensely seriously, and finally decided to gratify his 
long-felt golfing ambition and enter for the amateur 
championship. 

In these circumstances, the approaching trial — 
which approached so slowly — receded to the back of 
his mind, and even Billy faded from the forefront of 
his thoughts. Of course he constantly thought of her. 
He pictured how pleased she would be if she knew how 
well he was playing. He wanted to write and tell 
her about it, but she had asked him not to write. How 
silly of her. Surely she would have been glad to hear 
from him. Perhaps she was afraid that he would 
have written love letters to her. She needn’t have been 
afraid. He would have found it quite easy not to 
write love letters. As a matter of fact, he would have 
found that class of correspondence rather difficult. 
Of course he loved her ? Yes, he was awfully fond of 
her — awfully. 

Bangton didn’t win the amateur championship, 
but he made a very good show in it, and was quite 
satisfied with himself. He half expected to get a 
note from Billy sympathizing with him when he was 
knocked out. She must have seen his name in the 
papers ? 

But Billy hadn’t been reading the papers. She 
played golf perfunctorily, but she took no interest in 
it. She imagined that Bangton was taking none 
either. That’s where she was wrong. Their symptoms 
had been similar, but their complaint was different. 

The Aynesworth divorce case was one of the first 
special jury cases for trial in the ensuing Michaelmas 
sittings, and, as the Bong Vacation neared its close, 
little advance eddies of gossip and public interest 


262 


BILLY 


[chap, xxm 

manifested themselves, a paragraph here and there, 
a photograph of Jerry which did him rigorous justice, 
one of Billy which did not, and a notice in a sporting 
periodical eulogistic of Langton’s golf, which it would 
certainly have ignored had not his morals been called 
in question. Witnesses were gathered together by 
solicitors’ clerks, who, metaphorically speaking, acted 
the part of sheep-dogs, barked at their heels and 
worried them generally. Lady Fairborough and Jim 
declined to be driven into the fold and sheared — in 
other words, they refused to make statements — so 
they were served with subpoenas ; and Billy and 
Langton were called up to Town by their respective 
solicitors, who wanted to prepare their proofs. 

Langton returned to London reluctant for the fray ; 
he had had a half-hope in his mind that the matter 
might, after all, be allowed to drop. Billy, on the other 
hand, was glad that the day of battle was approaching. 
She was sick of the weary waiting ; and then, what- 
ever happened, once the trial was over, the embargo 
on Langton’s companionship would be removed. She 
hungered for him. Even to see him, if it were only in 
court in the witness-box, would be something. Love 
had struck Billy late, but it had struck her deep. 

Mr. and Mrs. Holroyd wanted to come up to London 
with Billy and stay with her at Queen’s Gate ; they 
considered that it was their duty to be with their 
daughter at this crisis in her life, but their daughter 
had different views. 

“ You’re a pair of dears,” she said ; “but I couldn’t 
bear it. It’ll be bad enough as it is, but to have the 
Daily Minor spreading its photographs over my 
relations as well as myself would be awful. Number 


CHAP. XXIIl] 


BIIvLY 


263 

one, portrait of Respondent ; number two, Respon- 
dent and her mother leaving the court ; number three. 
Respondent’s father, the well-known banker ; number 
four, Respondent’s mother faints ; number five, 
spot where Respondent’s mother fainted, marked with 
a cross ; number six, John Jones, the boy scout who 
ran and fetched the sal volatile ! ” 

Billy’s sprightly tone was put on for the occasion, 
for she was feeling far from frivolous at the moment. 
She succeeded in her object, however, which was to 
exclude her near relations from the scene of action ; 
with the exception of her brother Sydney, who was now 
living in Rondon, and who she would feel quite glad 
to have as an escort to and from the court. 

It was on the afternoon before the day fixed for the 
trial that Billy saw her leading counsel for the first 
time. Sir Richard had retained Mr. Murray Paget, K.C., 
M.P., for her, the young King’s Counsel noted for his 
audacity and his wit both in the Raw Courts and the 
House of Commons. 

“ He’ll be Solicitor-General before he’s forty,” 
Sir Richard said to her, “ and that’s the kind of man 
your case requires,” he added dryly. 

" Well, he’ll be a change to the other man, anyway,” 
replied Billy. She referred to her junior counsel, a 
divorce court practitioner of portentous solemnity 
of manner and considerable knowledge of the court in 
which he passed his life — and nothing else. 

Murray Paget was all the rage at the moment ; 
indeed, his name figured in so many cases that it was 
perfectly clear that he himself could onlj’’ figure for a 
brief time in many of them. His chambers were in 
King’s Bench Walk, Temple, and thither Billy and Sir 


BILI.Y 


264 


[chap. XXIII 


Richard proceeded at about half-past four on the after- 
noon before the trial. A very smart clerk received them; 
he was young like his master, and had risen with him. 
He ushered them into a poky little room at the back, 
and left them to their own devices whilst he went to 
inform Mr. Murray Paget of their arrival. It was 
apparently a very old room in which they waited, and 
everything in it was very old also j old briefs, old 
newspapers, an old wig box, an old paste pot, an old 
pair of scissors, and the lid of a departed coal scuttle 
diffidently obtruded themselves upon one’s attention. 
Sir Richard sat sedately upon a very old chair, twiddling 
his watch-chain and keeping a furtive eye on his nicely 
ironed hat, which the clerk had hung on a very old 
and uncertainly attached peg in the wall. 

Presently the clerk returned and said that Mr. 
Murray Paget would like to see Sir Richard. Sir 
Richard rose, cast a lingering, anxious look at his hat, 
and Billy was left alone. Not for long, for the clerk 
soon joined her. He offered her a newspaper with a 
little flourish — he prided himself on his breeding ; he 
was also impressionable. 

" Would you like to glance at the paper, madam ? ” 
he said, with intensely correct pronunciation. 

“ No, thanks,” she replied. 

“ Rubber is going up, I’m told,” he continued. 

“ Yes ? ” she answered. She was wondering what 
Mr. Murray Paget and Sir Richard were talking about. 

“ Perhaps you aren’t interested in the Stock 
Exchange ? ” pursued the clerk. 

She thought she heard a door open. 

“ I think Mr. Murray Paget is free now,” she 
said. 


BILLY 


CHAP. XXIIl] 


265 


“ No,” replied the clerk, “ that’s only one of our 
young gentlemen. We have a lot in Chambers. I 
call that room the bear garden,” he added with a depre- 
catory little laugh, “ only we feed the bears on papers 
instead of buns.” 

" Really,” said Billy uninterestedly. Apparently 
she was expected to say something. 

“Yes, they learn their work by reading the briefs. 
Very interesting some of them are, too.” 

A quiver ran down Billy’s spine. 

“ Do they read all the papers ? ” 

“ Oh yes.” 

“ And you too ? ” 

“ Well, rather.” He nearly added, “ What do you 
think ? ” but concluded on reflection that it would not 
be a sufficiently gentlemanly remark. He was quite 
the latest thing in clerks. 

“ Do you mind opening the window ? ” said Billy. 
" It’s hot.” 

The clerk obeyed. He was somewhat surprised. 
It was not at all hot. Billy was, however, with shame. 
The idea of her troubles being one of the topics of 
conversation in the ” bear garden ” and the domestic 
circle of the barrister’s clerk did not appeal to 
her. 

Presently a bell sounded. 

“ Mr. Murray Paget is disengaged now,” said the 
clerk, ” please come this way.” 

She was ushered into a large room, apparently 
nicely furnished, but too dimly lighted to enable her 
to perceive clearly whether it was or not. Her solicitor 
and junior counsel were mere shadowy forms round the 
table, which occupied the centre of the room, and the 


266 BILIyY [chap. XXIII 

only clearly defined figure was that of the man who sat 
under the two electric lights with crimson shades 
which hung suspended from the ceiling. He rose to 
his feet as she entered and shook hands with her, then 
motioned her to an armchair drawn up by the table 
within the circle of light within which he himself 
sat. 

She regarded him with interest ; he was very young, 
very good looking, clean shaven, sharp featured, long 
fingered, keen eyed. He didn’t give her time for 
further analysis, for he plunged forthwith into business. 
He handed her a typewritten document. It was a 
copy of the letter she had written to Hangton asking 
him not to come to dinner. 

“ I’ve been talking to Sir Richard about this,” he 
said; “ we’ve only just learnt of it in the other side’s 
latest affidavit of documents. We ought to have 
known of it before. However, that doesn’t matter ; 
what’s it mean ? ” 

“ What it saj'^s.” 

“ It says that you’re afraid to have Mr. Rangton 
to dinner at your house.” 

“ It doesn’t ! ” exclaimed Billy indignantly. 

“ Pardon me, it does. You may not, but it 
does.” 

“ I wasn’t a bit afraid ; I didn’t want him, that was 
all.” 

“ Why didn’t you want him ? ” 

“ Oh, I don’t know — does it matter ? ” 

“ Very much. Why ? ” 

“ Well, I knew my husband didn’t like Mr. Rangton 
— and I thought he might show it.” 

“ But your husband wanted him to come.” 


BITXY 


267 


CHAP, xxm] 

“ Yes, because he was jealous.” 

” Why was he jealous ? ” 

” Oh, because, because he — oh, I suppose he 
thought he was in love with me — that makes men 
jealous.” 

“ Was he in love with you ? ” 

Billy wriggled impatiently. 

“ I dare say,” she said. 

“ Were you in love with him ? ” 

‘‘ What do you want to know that for ? ” 

“ Never mind. Were you ? ” 

“ Not particularly.” 

“ At all ? ” 

“ No, not at all. Why, you’re doing the cross- 
examination, or whatever you call it, yourself.” 

“ When did you cease being in love with 
him ? ” 

“ I never was, and he never ought to have 
been ? ” 

“ Please explain.” 

Billy threw aside her fur. She wished this man 
would leave off asking questions. 

“ We agreed we wouldn’t be, and he broke his 
agreement,” she said. 

Murray Paget paused in his string of questions for 
a moment. Then he suddenly looked her straight in 
the eyes. 

“ When did you fall in love with Mr. Bangton ? ” 
he asked. 

Billy rose from her seat. 

“ I— nev ” 

The revelations in Switzerland and at Dieppe 
flashed through her brain — no, she couldn’t betray 


268 


BILLY 


[chap. XXIII 


her love like that. She recovered herself with an 
effort, but the perspiration stood out on her brow. 

“ Can — they — ask — me — that ? ” she jerked. 

“ They can ask it. I wanted to see if you could 
answer it.” 

She resumed her seat. 

“ Of course I can answer it,” she said coldly. “ I 
never fell in love with Mr. Langton, nor he with me ! ” 

She felt as if she were stoning a child. 

Then Murray Paget proceeded to take her in detail 
through the multifarious charges in the petition. He 
apparently made no notes, but just sat still and asked 
her questions. Why did she do this ? Why did she 
do that ? Would she please explain her conduct on 
such and such an occasion and so on. So she explained. 
She was perpetually explaining, and it seemed to her 
that her explanations sounded more and more childish 
as she went on. Murray Paget gave no sign of what 
he thought of them ; she wished he would. After 
about an hour of this sort of thing, the conversational 
clerk appeared with something written on a slip of 
paper. 

“ All right,” said Murray Paget, “ when I rmg.” 
He ceased questioning, and his fingers sought a bundle 
of papers. He had clearly become indifferent to 
Billy’s case, and was thinking of some one else’s. Sir 
Richard rose vaguely from the shadow. 

“ Thank you, Mr. Murray Paget,” he said, “ for 
giving us so much of your time.” 

” Not at all,” replied Murray Paget, and rang his 
bell. 

Then Billy turned to her counsel. 


BIIvIyY 


CHAP. XXIIl] 


269 


“ Mr. Murray Paget,” she said, “ you’ve asked me a 
great many questions. Now I want to ask you one. 
Am I going to win ? ” 

Murray Paget stretched out his hand and slightly 
tilted one of the crimson shaded lamps. He cast an 
approving glance at Billy. 

“ Wear that hat,” he said. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


“ AyneSWORTH against Aynesworth and Eangton,” 
said the registrar, and Billy’s case began. The Court 
had just re-assembled after the luncheon adjournment. 
The morning had been occupied in finishing a case part- 
heard the previous day. The long period of waiting 
was over. Billy was glad of it. .She settled herself in 
her seat to listen to the opening of Sir Mathew Hake, 
Jerry’s leading counsel. 

Sir Mathew Hake was a tall, big man, with a com- 
manding presence and a resonant voice. He had been 
a Solicitor-General in his time, and, when his party 
came in, would probably be so again. His success 
at the Bar and in politics was probably due more to 
his personality than to his intellect. He conveyed 
the impression of the burly, honest Englishman, the 
family man ; he was, in fact, just the very sort of man 
who appeals to the English elector, and an admirable 
advocate to select for representing the wrongs of an 
injured husband to an English jury. 

“ This is the story of an extraordinary marriage,’’ 
he began in his rolling voice, “ a marriage at the com- 
mencement of which neither man nor woman loved 
nor professed to love at all, but a marriage in the course 
of which the man came to love the woman and the 
woman came to love somebody else.” 

270 


CHAP. XXIV] 


BII^IvY 


271 


So Jerry had told everything. Billy had wondered 
whether he would. She supposed he had had the whole 
wretched story dragged out of him by his solicitor, his 
counsel, and Blanche — especially Blanche. She stole 
a glance at her husband, but she couldn’t see him 
property ; she and Jerry and Bangton were all sitting 
in the well of the court, but they were effectually 
fenced off from each other by their respective solicitors. 
She resumed her listening to the voice behind her. 

" Miss Holroyd was pretty and captivating, Mrs. 
Aynesworth was not less so. Unfortunately, Mrs. 
Aynesworth did not utilize her charms to reciprocate 
the love which had now been bom in her husband, but 
to fascinate somebody else. She neglected her wifely 
duties, she declined to join in her husband’s pursuits, 
and when he endeavoured to join in hers she deceived 
him.” 

Billy began to feel quite uncomfortable. She 
wasn’t accustomed to being talked at in this extremely 
personal way. She felt herself grow red with embarrass- 
ment, and then she remembered that all the general 
public could see of her was the top of her hat. That 
afforded her a great feeling of relief. She began to 
take quite a detached interest in the story which 
Sir Mathew Hake was mifolding. The fact that he 
was invisible to her, and that she was practically 
invisible to him, imparted to it a curiously impersonal 
effect. Of course, she would change all that if she 
turned round. But there was no occasion for her to 
turn round. 

“ The golf course was the common ground on 
which they met — this young man and this young 
woman — once a week, twice a week, three times a 


272 


BILLY 


[chap. XXIV 


week, and finally every day they played golf together. 
And all this time the husband never even knew of the 
existence of Mr. Frank Langton — she took very good 
care of that.” 

Billy felt that the owner of the voice was pointing 
at her. She was very grateful to her hat, which was a 
large one. She wondered if that was why Murray 
Paget had made her wear it. She did turn round 
sufficiently to see how he took this denunciation of 
his client, but he wa.sn’t in his place. 

" Where’s Mr. Murray Paget ? ” she whispered to 
Sir Richard at her side. 

“ Oh, I don’t suppose he’ll be back to-day,” 
replied the latter calmly ; “ he’s engaged in another 
court.” 

Billy gasped with astonishment and indignation. 
Her counsel engaged in another court whilst her case 
was being tried ! She wanted to get up and stop the 
case. Sir Richard attempted to soothe her. 

“ It’s all right,” he said, “ he’ll be here to-morrow, 
and he won’t be wanted before — Sir Mathew will be 
speaking all the afternoon.” 

Billy snorted her dissatisfaction, but she did not 
attempt to stop the trial — which was just as well, as 
the judge might have had something to say on the 
subject. 

“ Their romance began on the golf links, and it 
culminated in the studio, for, as I think I have told you, 
gentlemen, Mr. Langton was an artist. He seems to 
have been a very slow and painstaking artist. And 
that brings me to the story of the Unfinished Picture. 
Mr. Langton undertook to paint the portrait of this 
young lady. She came to his studio practically every 


CHAP. XXIV] 


BIIvLY 


273 


day for weeks, I may say for months, and stayed there 
for hours at a time. Prolonged sittings, very ! Sittings 
which necessitated relaxation in the shape of con- 
fidential conversation, rest in easy and conveniently 
adjacent chairs — and tea ! Sittings which rendered 
it desirable to send the only witness to the proceedings 
out on long and purely fictitious errands ! but sittings 
which utterly failed to produce anything in the nature 
of a portrait of the young wife whom the co-respondent 
called ‘ Billy ’ ! He might have plastered the walls of 
his studio with portraits in the time which he spent in 
not painting this one ! He could have filled this court 
with the products of the art he loved ! Perhaps he 
will give us the benefit of seeing that of the model he 
loved ! I do not know, but I have given him notice to 
produce it.” 

Sir Mathew was warming to his work. He had now 
got well into his stride. Billy couldn’t help admiring 
the skill with which he put the case against her, pieced 
together various seemingly unimportant incidents, and 
from them drew deadly conclusions. Had he forgotten 
the letter ? He hadn’t mentioned it yet, and was now 
dealing with events in the studio long subsequent to it. 
No, he had not forgotten it. Sir Mathew knew when 
to play a trump card most effectively. 

“ You may think, gentlemen,” said the voice, ” that 
Mrs. Peters was officious, over curious. Well, she was 
curious, but not curious without a cause. Some time 
before, before ever she set eyes on Mrs. Aynesworth, 
she picked up something while she was cleaning out 
the studio. At first she thought it was a piece of 
waste paper. But it wasn’t. It was a letter. Here 
it is : — 

T 


274 




[chap. XXIV 


" ‘ Dear Frank, 

“ ‘ Jerry wants me to ask you to dinner next 
Thursday. I don’t want you to come, so please say 
you’re engaged. I’ll explain when we meet. 

“ ‘ Yours, 

“ ‘ Bieev.’ 

“ That letter made Mrs. Peters curious. Well, 
gentlemen, it makes me curious ; it may possibly have 
the same effect on you. Was that the letter of an honest 
woman or a guilty one ? ” 

And so on, and so on, the voice proceeded, rising 
and falling in indignant declamation or restrained 
mockery, occasionally purely conversational, occasion- 
ally becoming rhetorical, never theatrical, but per- 
sistently dramatic. Billy glanced at the clock. It 
was five minutes to four. The voice had been speaking 
for nearly two hours, it seemed to have narrated every- 
thing that she had done in her life, together with a 
number of things which she was incapable of doing. 
Surely it had nearly finished. Yes, Sir Mathew was 
concluding. 

“ Gentlemen, you may sympathize with the young 
woman who has married too soon and loved too late, 
you may condemn the man who has married a woman 
knowing that there was no love in his own heart nor in 
hers, you cannot but despise the man who caused the 
woman to disgrace the honourable name she bore, 
but you will not only be passing an accurate judgment 
upon the facts of this case, but also truly furthering 
the future welfare of the petitioner, by dissolving his 
ill-considered marriage and obliterating this lamentable 
episode from his life.” 


CHAP, xxiv] BILI/Y 275 

The voice ceased. vSir Mathew had sat down. The 
judge rose. 

“ Half-past ten to-morrow, gentlemen,” said some- 
body, and then everybody seemed to be moving at 
once, and papers, umbrellas, hats, and bags became 
inextricably confused. Billy’s ears were burning. 
She hadn’t been able to remain impersonal throughout 
Sir Mathew’s speech. Many of his remarks had been 
somewhat direct, and some of them stung. Moreover, 
it is not gratifying to a pretty young woman to be 
described as “ a lamentable episode.” 

She followed the stream of people through the doors 
of the court. Langton was in the corridor. He 
smiled when he saw her. 

“I’ve got to avoid you like the plague,” he said, 
“ I’m told that they’re still watching us.” 

“ What a nuisance ! ” she replied; “ I wanted you 
to come to tea.” 

“ Never mind, old girl,” he answered. “ It’s only 
for two or three days, and then ” 

“ And then ? ” she queried. 

“ I’ll finish your picture and present it to Jerry as 
some compensation for losing his case,” 

Her face brightened. Frank was at any rate not 
down in the mouth, why should she be ? She saw Jim 
and tried to speak to him, but he waved her aside with 
mock solemnity. 

“ No,” he said ; " I’m taboo. I’m a witness.” 

So she went home with her brother Sydney. 

The Aynesworth case had evidently caught on. 
“ The Extraordinary Marriage Case ” flashed on Billy’s 
eyes from the posters of the evening papers, as she and 
Sydney drove home in their taxi. Sir Mathew’s 


276 BII/IyY [chap. XXIV 

opening had effectively apprised the Press that the case 
was worth booming into a cause c^khre. 

“ All the better for you,” said Sydney, “ when 
you win.” 

“Yes,” she replied with a slight alteration of 
emphasis, “ ■when you do.” 

She was late getting into court the next morning. 
As a matter of fact, she had considerable trouble to get 
into it at all, especially when the people who seemed to 
fill every available foot of space discovered who she was. 
They all wanted to look at her, and, as she towered 
above most of them, they had little difficulty in doing 
so. For once in her life she envied Jerry his height, 
or rather, his absence of it. “ It’s objectionable to be 
stared at in large quantities,” she said to Sydney as 
she took her seat. 

Jerry was in the witness-box and Sir Mathew Hake 
was examining him. Jerry didn’t appear at all com- 
fortable. He looked much more like a prisoner than 
a petitioner. Billy was certain that he would have 
run away if he could, and she felt quite sorry for him. 
She didn’t bear him any malice for the present pro- 
ceedings; her somewhat stormy telephonic conversation 
with Blanche had enlightened her considerably as to 
who was really responsible for them. She cast a 
friendly glance in his direction, but he avoided her gaze. 
He wouldn’t have instituted the proceedings, but he 
had no doubt of her guilt. It had been an awful shock 
to him. All his petty feelings of petulance for past 
slights had become merged in acute distress. That 
Billy should have done this thing ! She was dead. 

Jerry’s examination in chief lasted about an hour 
and a half. The whole story of his unsuccessful 


BILIvY 


277 


CHAP. XXIV] 

married life was told by him, or rather extracted from 
him by Sir Mathew Hake. No, not quite the whole — 
the non-conjugal relations between him and Billy were 
not revealed. Billy was glad of that — there is a limit 
to frankness. At length Sir Mathew desisted from his 
task, like a forensic bee which had extracted the last 
drop of honey from a flower — poor Jerry was a some- 
what decadent one. Murray Paget rose to cross- 
examine and the Court settled itself to enjoy the 
process. 

“ You didn’t love your wife when you married her ? ” 
queried the young King’s counsel. 

“ No,” said Jerry. 

“ When did you get to love her ? ” 

J erry played nervously with the edge of the witness- 
box. 

“ I don’t quite know,” he said ; “ soon afterwards.” 

” A year ? ” 

“ About that ? ” 

“ Very much ? ” 

“ I suppose so.” 

“ Don’t you know ? ” 

Jerry hesitated. 

“ Don’t you know ? ” repeated Murray Paget. 

“Yes,” said Jerry defiantly, “ very much.” 

“ How long did your adoration of your wife con- 
tinue ? ” 

“ The witness didn’t say that he adored her,” 
objected Sir Mathew Hake. 

“ Then I will ask him,” replied Murray Paget 
nnperturbably. 

“ When you loved your wife very much, may I take 
it that you adored her ? ” 


278 


BIlrIvY 


[chap. XXIV 

“ Ye — es,” stammered the wretched Jerry. 

Billy began to consider her counsel an awful 
bounder. 

“ And how long did your adoration last ? ” 

“ I — I don’t know exactly.” 

“ About how long ? ” 

“ I really can’t tell you.” 

“ Perhaps until you met Mrs. D’Arcy ? ” 

Sir Mathew Hake arose in his wrath. 

“ There is no allegation against Mrs. D’Arcy in the 
pleadings,” he said. 

“ Nor now,” replied Murray Paget; “so my learned 
friend needn’t get excited.” 

A tall young man wearing a very new wig rose from 
the back of the court. 

“ I am instructed to watch this case on behalf of 
Mrs. D’Arcy,” he said nervously. 

“ Then do so,” remarked the judge testily, “ and 
don’t interrupt. I suppose you will arrive at some- 
thing that is relevant to this issue in time,” he added 
to Murray Paget. 

“ I’m sanguine of doing so, m’Dord, if I’m not 
interrupted,” replied the latter with calm impertinence, 
and proceeded to harry Jerry. 

“ Did you ever ask your wife for an explanation of 
her conduct ? ” he asked in the course of the cross- 
examination. 

“ No,” replied Jerry. 

“ Why not ? ” 

“ I was advised not to.” 

“ By whom ? ” 

“ My sister.” 

“ Your sister ! ” echoed Murray Paget, and the Court 


BII.I.Y 


CHAP. XXIV] 


279 


laughed. “ Is she the managing director of your 
matrimonial affairs ? ” 

Jerry blushed and wriggled, but remained silent. 

“ Was it your sister who put the detectives on Mrs. 
Aynesworth’s track ? ” pursued his tormenter. 

“ No,” replied Jerry, “ it wasn’t.” 

“ Who then ? Mrs. D’Arcy ? ” 

It was a shot in the dark, but it came off. 

“ Yes,” said Jerry, and without thinking of what 
he was saying, added to vindicate Mrs. D’Arcy’s action, 
“ she was anxious about my wife, and wanted to give 
her a welcome home.” 

“ Oh, did she ? ” commented Murray Paget with 
a sarcasm that burnt. 

Thus, for the rest of the morning Murray Paget 
continued with the, to him, congenial task of making 
poor J erry appear ridiculous. His obj ect was to expose 
all the weakness and vanity of the little man, to turn 
him, metaphorically speaking, inside out, to cast ridicule 
upon the case that he had to meet by smothering with 
ridicule the man who had brought it. It was an easy 
task. Jerry was finally reduced to the condition of 
an electrified cork ball. 

Billy felt a great wave of pity pass through her for 
poor, badgered J erry. She had never felt like that for 
him before. She had often enough made him appear 
ridiculous herself, but it was quite another thing when 
somebody else was doing it for her. Moreover, this 
was such a cold-blooded proceeding. She would have 
liked to go up to Jerry, tell him it was all a mistake, 
and ask him to come away with her out of the court. 
She was sure he would have done so. It was too late 
for that, however. She turned to Sir Richard. 


28 o BILIyY [chap. XXIV 

“ This is brutal,” she said ; “ I can’t stand it.” 

She half rose to go. 

“ Better stay where you are,” he answered, “ it 
won’t last long now.” 

Sir Richard was right, for Jerry had reached the 
limit of his endurance. His feeble little being could 
not withstand this public dissecting process any longer. 

Suddenly he collapsed. Instead of answering 
Murray Paget’s latest taunt, he leant forward on the 
witness-box and buried his face in his hands, whilst 
his shoulders quivered convulsively. 

“ I didn’t want to come here,” he sobbed, ” I didn’t 
want to come here.” 

Murray Paget sat down with the satisfied air of a 
surgeon who has performed a highly successful operation. 

Jerry’s outburst was only momentary, and he was 
not quite at the end of his troubles yet. There was a 
strained feeling in the court when he recovered him- 
self ; possibly the audience which had derived so much 
amusement from Jerry’s performance under the hands 
of Murray Paget were feeling slightly ashamed of them- 
selves. Murray Paget wasn’t — that was not his 
way. 

Courtney Hope got up to cross-examine on behalf 
of Bangton. His rich, Irish brogue was a welcome 
relief to the quiet, incisive English of Murray Paget. 
He waited until Jerry was ready to face the music 
once more. 

” D’ye suggest, Mr. Aynesworth, that ye’re the only 
young mahn who is capable of an innocent attachment 
f’r a young woman ? ” he asked. 

“I — ^I don’t understand,” stammered Jerry. 

“ Mrs. D’Arcy,” explained the Irishman. 


CHAP. XXIV] BIIylvY 281 

“ My relations with her were quite innocent,” said 
Jerry. 

“ Quite so, quite so, and phwhy shouldn’t the 
relations of Mr. Bangton with y’r wife be equally 
so? ” 

“ My wife left her home,” answered Jerry. 

” Becahse ye made it impossible for her. Didn’t 
ye now ? ” 

“ I — I don’t think so.” 

“ Did ut never occurr to ye that ye were making 
her an object of contempt and ridicule to h’r friends 
and h’r servants ? ” 

“ No,” said Jerry, “ it didn’t.” 

” Didn’t she complain about it ? ” 

“ Yes,” admitted Jerry, “ she did.” 

“ And did ye attempt to effect a cure ? ” 

Jerry lost his temper. 

“ No,” he said, “ her complaint was incurable.” 

“ Ye mean,” retorted the K.C., “ she asked for the 
society of h’r husband, and there was no supply of the 
article.” 

And so on for about ten minutes, after which the 
Court rose for lunch. 

Mrs. Peters went into the witness-box after lunch. 
She was examined by Jerry’s junior counsel. She fully 
realized the importance of the position she occupied in 
the case. She was, however, very suspicious of any- 
thing in a wig and gown, and for a considerable time 
regarded the counsel who was examining her as her 
avowed enemy. 

“ Your name is Mrs. Peters, I believe ? ” he began. 

“Yes,” said Mrs. Peters reluctantly, as if she were 
not quite sure about it. 


282 BILI^Y [chap. XXIV 

“ You used to attend upon Mr, Bangton at the 
Camden Studios ? ” 

“ I used to clean 'is studio out,” she admitted 
cautiously. ” It took some cleanin’ too,” she added 
confidentially to the judge. 

“You are not at the studio now, I believe ? ” 
pursued counsel, 

“ No,” said Mrs. Peters, with the conscious air of 
scoring one against the man in the wig, “ I’m 
’ere.” 

Presently she thawed sufficiently to explain that 
she had left the studios “ to better ’erself,” after 
which she became communicative, and proceeded to 
pour forth her evidence in a volume of words, which 
neither counsel nor judge was able to stem. She had 
“ happened ” to see this and to hear that. She had 
apparently always “ happened to be about ” whenever 
Billy and Bangton were together in the studio. She 
had “ chanced ” to see them kissing, she had been 
“ ’orror struck ” to hear the things they had said to 
each other ; not that she had ever listened, far from it. 
It “ just happened that she was by.” 

Billy listened to Mrs. Peters’ imaginative dis- 
cursiveness with growing astonishment and indigna- 
tion. 

“ The old liar,” she whispered to Sydney, 

“ Yes,” he replied, “ Ananias lived before his time; 
she would just have done for him.” 

At length Mrs. Peters’ examination-in-chief was 
concluded. She was about to leave the box, but the 
usher directed her attention to Murray Paget, who had 
risen to cross-examine. 

“ What ! Another of you ! ” she exclaimed. 


CHAP, xxiv] BII/LY 283 

“ You seem to have taken rather a prejudice against 
Mrs. Aynesworth ? ” he said. 

“ Yes,” replied Mrs. Peters, “ you’d take a pre- 
judice against a young woman if you first of all saw her 
in a young man’s bedroom.” 

“ But she was only looking at his pictures ? ” 

“H’m,” sniffed Mrs. Peters; “not ’arf, I don’t 
think ! ” 

“ Your remark is a trifle obscure,” said Murray 
Paget politely. 

“ So’s them pictures,” replied Mrs. Peters with 
emphasis. 

Murray Paget proceeded to deal with another 
incident which Mrs. Peters had adorned with her 
imagination. It was the occasion when Billy and 
Bangton had been practising approach shots over a 
chair, and Mrs. Peters had, as usual, “ happened to 
come into the room.” 

“ They was just playin’ ’ide and seek round the 
sofa, and she wasn’t ’ard to find neither,” said Mrs. 
Peters. 

“ I suggest they were merely engaged in picking up 
golf balls,” said Billy’s counsel. 

“ They’d picked up all the golf balls they wanted 
by the time I come in,” replied Mrs. Peters signi- 
ficantly. 

He referred to her statement that she had “ chanced 
to see ” Billy and Bangton “ kissin’ and cuddlin’ on 
the sofa.” 

“ Surely,” said Murray Paget, with an air of 
sweet reasonableness, “ Mr. Bangton was choking, 
and Mrs. Aynesworth was patting him on the 
back.” 


BILLY 


284 


[chap. XXIV 


“ She wosn’t pattin’ 'im on the back and ’e wosn’t 
’ittin’ 'er over the 'ead with an ’achet neither,” replied 
Mrs. Peters with deadly sarcasm. “ They wos jest 
kissin’ and cuddlin’. Think I don’t know ! ” 

Murray Paget got rather the worst of it from Mrs. 
Peters. He gave her up after a time. 

” You’re too clever for me ! ” he said, as he resumed 
his seat. 

” I could ’ave told you that before 3'ou began,” 
retorted Mrs. Peters. 

Mrs. Peters was not, however, destined to have it 
all her oi\m way. She turned to face a new foe. It was 
Courtney Hope, bland and smiling. 

“ And wot do you want ? ” she asked truculently. 

“ Tell me,” he said, “ did ye now ever have an 
innocent attachment f’r a young man ? ” 

“ Not me ! ” she replied promptly, and her answer 
w'as greeted with a roar of appreciative laughter. 

Jim was the next witness. Yes, he was a barrister. 
He had been to Dieppe at Whitsuntide. He had seen 
Mrs. Aynesworth there. Also Mr. Langton. Had he 
left them there ? They had left before he did ? Where 
for ? He couldn’t say. 'ViTiy ? That was not his 
business. Did he inquire ? 

Jim looked appealingly at Murray Paget. 

” Is that evidence ? ” objected the latter. 

” I can’t say that it isn’t,” said the judge. “ Answer 
the question,” he added to Jim. 

Yes, he did inquire. Successfully ? No. What did 
he do then ? He went home. He was a great friend 
of Mrs. Aynesworth ? He was a friend of hers. Cross- 
examined : There had been nothing improper in the 
behaviour of Mrs. Aynesworth towards Mr. Langton 


BILLY 


CHAP. XXIV] 


285 


whilst he had been at Dieppe. He would have noticed 
it if there had been. He had every opportunity of 
judging. 

Then Lady Fairborough was called. 

Poor little woman ! She dreaded the ordeal of the 
witness-box. She had been there before, not so very 
long ago, and in that very same court, and before that 
very same judge. She could see that he remembered 
her by the glance he gave her as she was sworn. She 
wouldn’t give Billy away though, she was resolved 
on that. Dear Billy ! She had been very good to 
her. 

Sir Mathew Hake examined Lady Fairborough him- 
self. Yes, Mrs. Aynesworth had gone with her to 
Dieppe. No, she had not returned with her. Why 
not ? Mrs. Aynesworth had liked the place and 
wanted to stay on. She was quite a free agent. Did 
she try to prevent Mrs. Aynesworth staying ? She 
may have said that she was sorry they weren’t going 
back together. That was all ? Oh yes. Yes, Mr. 
Langton was at Dieppe. He sat at her table ? Yes. 
When did he arrive ? She couldn’t remember, some 
time before she left. A short time before ? A day or 
two ? Yes, perhaps, she couldn’t remember. She 
didn’t attach any importance to it. Yes, she had 
called on Mrs. Aynesworth later in Queen’s Gate. She 
thought she might have come back. No, she wasn’t 
a bit anxious about her. Why should she be ? 

Murray Paget rose to cross-examine. 

“ Did you ever see anything improper in the be- 
haviour of Mrs. Aynesworth or Mr. Langton to each 
other ? ” he asked. 

“ Never ! ” she replied emphatically. “ And there 


286 


BILLY 


[chap. XXIV 

never was anything either,” she added, only too w illin g 
to speak up for her friend, “ I’m sure of that.” 

“ Your opinion in these matters is not material,” 
commented the judge with cruel significance. “ We 
will rise now,” he added, and the Court adjourned for 
the day. 


CHAPTER XXV 


The general impression conveyed by the second day 
of the trial was that Billy had rather scored ; for Jerry 
had made a very poor show in the witness-box, and 
Mrs. Peters had overdone her part. But, of course, up 
to the present the evidence had only touched the fringe 
of the case. The substance of the charges against 
Billy and Eangton was left for the third day, when 
their continental wanderings would be dealt with. 

The court was packed as on the previous day. 
There was no slackening of the public interest in the 
trial ; if anything, it had increased. Quite a crowd of 
people assembled outside the Law Courts to catch even 
a momentary glimpse of any one cormected, however 
remotely, with the case, to express their opinions upon 
it to each other, and to identify as Mrs. A3mesworth, 
Mrs. Peters, Langton, and Jerry totally inoffensive 
and respectable citizens who had never been inside the 
Divorce Court in their lives and never would be. 

But in spite of the excitement amongst the spec- 
tators attending the re-opening of the case, it was a 
disappointing day. They had been looking forward to 
a further display of legal fireworks, but Murray Paget’s 
cross-examination fell very flat, and even the buoyant 
Irishman, Courtney Hope, was disappointing. The 
evidence, too, was deadly monotonous. Clerks and 
servants from all the continental hotels Billy and 
287 


288 


BIIXY 


[chap. XXV 


Bangton had visited filed into the box, and related 
when “ the young lady and her brother ” had arrived, 
how long they had stayed, and what they did. But 
it was the same story from all of them, and a thoroughly 
respectable one too — or rather, it would have been had 
the chief actors in it been a brother and sister. 

Not a gleam of humour enlivened the case through- 
out the day, and the morning of the fourth day of the 
trial was equally dull. Dull, yes, and depressing — to 
Billy. She began to realize the strength of the case 
against her as the continual stream of witnesses flowed 
through the witness-box. None of them with much to 
say, but all of them with something, something damag- 
ing, something true, something that couldn’t be sneered 
away by Murray Paget, or laughed aside by Courtney 
Hope ; something that she would have to explain when 
her turn came to go into the witness-box. How many 
more witnesses were there ? They seemed innumer- 
able, They appeared to spring out of the ground like 
the armed men who resulted from the dragon’s teeth 
sown by Jason. He had been able to overcome them, 
it is true, but she didn’t feel up to it. She had a 
headache. The court was stifling. 

“ Mr. Harris ” went into the witness-box after the 
luncheon adjournment. He was Sir Mathew Hake’s 
last witness. Sir Mathew had kept him to the last. 
It doesn’t do to wind up an interesting case in an 
atmosphere of dullness, and the detective could hardly 
fail to be stimulating. Billy was surprised to see the 
change in her little cockney friend. Had it not been 
for his voice and his absence of aspirates, she thought 
she wouldn’t have recognized him. His sporting 
tourist’s attire had vanished, and was replaced by a 


CHAP. XXV] 


BII,LY 


289 

quiet serge suit ; he was clean shaven too, whereas in 
Switzerland he had sported a moustache, and his hair 
looked neat and tidy. Altogether, he presented a 
reliable and respectable appearance — a desideratum 
when you are imparting information and not seeking it. 

“ Mr. Harris ” — whose name, by the by, turned 
out to be Fletcher — related his experiences in matter- 
of-fact tones, carefully keeping time with his Lordship’s 
pen, as one who was accustomed to give evidence in a 
court of law, and occasionally refreshing his memory 
from notes, which he explained in advance of possible 
objection “ were made at the time.” He was a 
thoroughly professional witness and, Billy admitted, 
a comparatively truthful one. That is to say, he. 
didn’t invent facts, but he had a facile knack of colour- 
ing them. The former hotel witnesses had, for instance, 
narrated how they had considered that Billy and Lang- 
ton were merely a brother and sister on their travels, 
but the detective made it quite plain that their attitude 
towards each other had been unusually affectionate for 
that relationship. He didn’t lie exactly, but he cer- 
tainly coloured ; he, in fact, filled in just what the other 
witnesses had left out. That, of course, was why he 
was called. 

As Billy listened to the smooth-faced, imperturbable 
detective giving his evidence, a sense of hopelessness 
began to invade her. It had just needed the extra bit 
of weight and colour which “ Mr. Harris ” provided to 
display the case against her in its full strength. Hither- 
to, whilst depressed and wearied at the monotonous 
reiteration of her doings, the evidence en masse had 
somewhat resembled a jig-saw puzzle to her mind, but 
“ Mr. Harris ” was the last block which fitted neatly 

u 


ago 


BILLY 


[chap. XXV 

into its place, and thereby transformed meaningless 
lines into a coherent picture. It was not a pleasant 
picture either. But a horribly definite one. Billy felt 
that it had got to be changed, that the blocks must be 
re-arranged and re-sorted, and a new tableau evolved. 
When ? When she went into the box. How ? Oh, 
that was Murray Paget’s business. Was it ? She 
knew it wasn’t. She knew it was her business, that it 
was upon the show she made in the witness-box that 
the issue depended, that she had to satisfy those twelve 
commonplace men in the jury box that she was an 
eccentric, innocent young woman, and not a common- 
place, guilty one. She glanced at them. Common- 
place they were to a man, commonplace must obviously 
be their views of life, and their verdict would certainly 
be as commonplace as themselves. Billy felt that they 
were not the sort of jury she wanted at all. Her 
story required a jury box with a little imagination 
in it. 

The jury followed “ Mr. Harris’s ” evidence with 
the sleepy appreciation incidental to three o’clock in 
the afternoon in a hot and crowded court. The detec- 
tive concluded his list of Billy’s delinquencies abroad, 
but Sir Mathew Hake did not sit down. Instead, he 
assumed his blandest expression. 

“ Did you,” he asked, “ continue to watch the 
respondent and the co-respondent in London ? ” 

Instantly Murray Paget was on his feet to object. 

“ That was subsequent to the service of the peti- 
tion,” he said with assumed or real indignation, “ and 
can’t possibly be evidence.” 

Sir Mathew gently waved a deprecating hand as if 
soothing a querulous child. 


BILLY 


CHAP. XXV] 


291 


“ My friend’s case,” he said, “ is that these young 
people acted as they did from sheer thoughtlessness. 
It is significant that they continued being thought- 
less after they had been brought to a sense of their 
position by being served with the petition.” 

“ If Mrs. Aynesworth’s behaviour was innocent 
before, why shouldn’t it be innocent afterwards ? ” 
queried the judge. 

“If a man trespasses on another man’s land and 
says that he did it in ignorance, it is strong evidence 
of the nature of his first visit if, when he is no longer 
ignorant, he is found doing the same thing,” replied 
Sir Mathew. 

“ It isn’t evidence that he stole anything,” inter- 
posed Murray Paget. 

“ That depends on whether it is an orchard or not,” 
retorted Sir Mathew. 

“ I suppose you are referring to the case of Adam 
against Eve and another,” said the judge, and the 
Court dutifully laughed. “ However,” he continued, 
“ I think you might leave it. Sir Mathew. Surely 
you’ve got enough as it is.” 

Murray Paget again rose angrily. 

“ Really, my Lord,” he said, “ I protest.” 

The judge gazed mildly at the indignant advocate. 

“ I imderstood your objection to be that you had 
had enough too,” he said. 

“ It’s not so much your Lordship’s remark as the 
suggestion it contains that I complain of,” fumed 
Murray Paget. 

“ The suggestion, Mr. Murray Paget, emanates 
entirely from you,” replied the judge dryly, at which 
remark one of the jurymen laughed appreciatively. 


292 BIIvI/Y [chap. XXV 

and Billy felt that her counsel hadn’t done her much 
good by his interruption. 

Murray Paget proceeded to work off his discom- 
fiture on “ Mr. Harris.” So his real name was Fletcher, 
was it ? How long had it been Fletcher ? Oh, some 
time. And before that ? Well, his real name was 
Ferguson ? When was his name Ferguson ? Oh, 
before he was a detective. What had he been before 
he was a detective ? Need he answer that question ? 
Certainly he must answer the question. Well, he had 
been a bookmaker. Why did he leave off being a book- 
maker ? Well, he got fined. More than once ? Yes, 
two or three times, as a matter of fact. Had he been 
told that if he was caught again he would be sent to 
prison ? Possibly, magistrates did say that sort of 
thing sometimes. Had he given evidence in divorce 
cases before ? Heaps of times. Successfully ? He 
didn’t know what was meant by “ successfully ” ; he 
had told the truth then, as he was doing now. 

By the judge : There was nothing the matter so far 
as he knew with his eyesight, his hearing, or his memory. 

‘‘ That being so,” said the judge, “ your morals 
appear to be immaterial.” 

“ I was cross-examining to credit, my Ford,” said 
Murray Paget. 

“ Not your own,” replied the judge tartly. 

“ That is the case, my Ford,” said Sir Mathew Hake. 

The judge gave a curt little nod of acknowledg- 
ment, and the Court adjourned. 

The crowded court proceeded to empty itself with 
the customary scraping of impatient feet. Billy didn’t 
join the hurrying throng. She, indeed, seemed imcon- 
scious of it, as is the pebble by and over which the 


BILLY 


293 


CHAP. XX V] 

water swirls. She had a horrible headache, no ordinary, 
dull, aching affair, such as comes from a stuffy atmos- 
phere, but a thing of throbbing stabs. She had become 
deadly pale, and Sir Richard Maitland watched her 
rather anxiously. 

“ This won’t do,” he said ; ” you’ve got to look your 
best to-morrow, and you’re thoroughly done up. Go 
home and have a real long night of it, and you needn’t 
get here too early to-morrow morning. Twelve o’clock 
will be quite soon enough. Murray Paget will be 
speaking till then.” 

Billy nodded appreciation of her solicitor’s fore- 
thought, and rose to her feet to go. She half stumbled 
out of court and into the waiting taxi which Sydney 
had summoned. 

Somebody snapshotted her as she went down the 
steps into Carey Street. She had hitherto endeavoured 
to avoid these little attentions by concealing her face 
with her muff, but to-day she didn’t care, her head 
occupied all her thoughts, it throbbed uneudurably. 
Tea did her some good, and a stiff dose of phenacetin 
did her more, after which she went upstairs to her 
room to lie down and rest. But rest she could not. Pain 
had banished thought, and with the departure of pain 
thought returned. Thought as to to-morrow, thought 
as to what she was going to say when she went into 
the witness-box,, thought as to what would be said to 
her, thought as to how her explanations would be 
treated. She writhed on the bed in mental anguish. 

She sat up and pulled herself together with an 
effort. She was a fool ; she was worse, she was a coward 
to go on like this, she was crying before she was whipped, 
she ought to be ashamed of herself, she deserved to 


294 


BILLY 


[chap. XXV 

lose her case instead of to win it. Was she going to 
win it? Yes, she was, she was. She repeated this 
comforting assurance to herself as she dressed for dinner, 
but it failed to carry conviction to her brain. She had 
more or less composed herself by the time she met her 
brother at dinner, but that young gentleman revived 
all her disturbing thoughts by showing her the evening 
paper containing a full account of the trial. Billy 
couldn’t help reading it, and the evidence seemed 
horribly convincing in cold print, but it was the head- 
lines that affected her most ; " Startling Detective 
Evidence” — "Judge’s Comments” — “Close of Peti- 
tioner’s case ” — " Respondent in the Box To-morrow.” 
She couldn’t keep her eyes off the leaded type, and when 
she did finally manage to remove them, the letters, 
stared up at her from the tablecloth, or from anything 
else she chanced to be looking at. She left her dinner 
practically untasted, and as soon as it was over she 
bade her brother good night and went up to her room. 
Sydney endeavoured to be sympathetic, but his sym- 
pathy was rather like that of the trainer of a horse 
which has gone lame on the eve of the race. He, 
indeed, regarded himself as Billy’s trainer and approved 
of her early retirement. 

“ Go right off to bed,” he said, “ and go to sleep 
when you get there, because you’ve got to do big 
things to-morrow, you know.” 

Her brother’s utter failure to appreciate the position 
brought a bitter little smile to Billy’s lips as she went 
upstairs. He was disappointed in her because she was 
not, in his own language, “up to the mark ; ” well, a 
good night’s sleep would cure all that, according to 
him. Doubtless it would — if she could get it. 


BILLY 


295 


CHAP. XXV] 

It was rather a cold night, and some kindly soul 
had just lit a fire in Billy’s room. It was a badly 
laid fire, and it smoked sulkily up the chimney in the 
way badly laid fires do. The wreathing smoke seemed 
curiously in attune with her thoughts — sombre, sinister, 
hopeless. It seemed to Billy that all her hopes and 
all her courage were enveloped by those curling columns 
of soot, and were being smothered by them. She poked 
the fire desperately as if she would endeavour to rouse 
from it some spark of encouragement. It smoked 
worse than ever. She tried again, and it began to show 
signs of going out, after which she left it alone. She 
half made up her mind to go downstairs again and 
talk to Sydney, she half made up her mind to go out 
and forget her troubles in the whirl of the streets, she 
half made up her mind to go to bed as she had originally 
intended. But she did none of these things. She 
continued to sit by the fire, and the fire continued to 
smoke. She got into a state of moody depression, and 
finally fell asleep. She awoke to find herself shivering 
and the fire out. She glanced at the watch on her 
wrist. It was past twelve o’clock ; she must have been 
asleep some hours. She got up and stretched. She 
felt in that semi-comatose condition which invariably 
attends the awakening from sleep in one’s clothes. She 
began to undress and went to her dressing-table and 
brushed her hair, which she always found stimulated 
her. It didn’t fail in this instance. Indeed, it stimu- 
lated her so much that it deprived her of all desire to 
go to bed. She knew that she ought to go to bed, 
that she ought to have been there hours ago, that she 
required all her strength for the morrow — or rather, 
that day. She finished undressing and got into bed. 


BILIvY 


296 


[chap. XXV 


But she couldn’t sleep. She didn’t want to sleep, 
sleep would shorten the hours that remained before she 
had to go into the witness-box. The approaching ordeal 
seemed more dreadful every time that she thought 
of it ■ the thing had got thoroughly on her nerves. She 
tossed restlessly in her bed, she pictured the coming 
scene in court, herself in the box, the crowd of staring, 
curious faces watching her, the smile of contempt on 
every one of them as she told her story, the eagerness 
with which they followed her cross-examination, the 
sceptical and caustic comments of the judge ; the 
scene she had pictured was so horribly real that she 
had to sit up in bed to convince herself that it was 
not so. She made a supreme effort to take herself in 
hand. She told herself that she was a coward and a 
fool. There was nothing to be afraid of, she was 
innocent, and she was going to win. Win what ? 
Jerry ? 

A sudden shiver shook her. Her fear of the trial 
itself merged in a still greater one — the result. What 
would come after ? If she won, she would win J erry, 
and she would lose Bangton. No, she wouldn’t even 
win J erry, for he believed her to be guilty, the verdict 
of the jury wouldn’t alter his opinion. Poor Jerry ! 
She was sorry that he should think so badly of her. 
She had never troubled about his opinion of her, but 
she would have liked to alter his present one. 

Would the verdict of the jury convince any one ? 
Was she not already condemned in the eyes of the 
world and her friends ? Would she not be trebly con- 
demned after her cross-examination ? She could see 
the faces of her friends as they congratulated her on a 
barely won victory, and she could hear them when 


BILIyY 


297 


CHAP. XXV] 

they discussed her afterwards, saying to each other 
with a raising of the eyes and a little shrug of the 
shoulders, “ lucky, you know, very lucky.” 

So she would lose her friends — and Bangton. No. 
Yes. She must lose him. They couldn’t continue as 
friends after what had passed, and they certainly 
couldn’t continue as anything else. Perhaps, after all, 
it wouldn’t so very much matter if she did lose. The 
disgrace ? She had that any way. Even if the jury 
proclaimed her to be an innocent woman ? They 
wouldn’t do that. At the best their verdict would 
only imply that they were not satisfied that she was 
a guilty one. And if they found her guilty ? Well, 
she would have Eangton. He would marry her, and 
they would live it down in time. Madge Fairborough 
had found her way back, surely she could do the same. 
Not that she wanted to find her way back. She would 
have her lover, that would be enough. 

Again a wave of fear swept through her. If they 
lost their case — she and Eangton — would things be the 
same between them ? Once more the prospective 
scene of her cross-examination rose in her mind. In 
imagination she heard the questions that would be 
asked her — “ What was this man to her ? Did she 
love him ? Had she ever loved him ? ” and so on 
through a veritable gamut of agony. She pictured 
her own utter collapse in the box, and Dangton taking 
her place and being put on the rack in his turn. Could 
things ever be quite the same between them after an 
experience like that ? Would they not be two maimed 
and tortured human beings flung contemptuously out 
of court by their tormentors and humiliated in their 
own eyes and each other’s by what they had gone 


BTIXY 


298 


[chap. XXV 


through ? All her pride revolted at the thought. She 
could see her lover pitying and sympathetic. At 
present he admired her, looked up to her. He had, 
indeed, to a certain extent leant on her, for it was her 
strength which had kept their relations pure. She 
desired his admiration and hungered for his love, but 
she didn’t want his pity. Pity may be akin to love, 
but it is equally closely related to contempt. So there 
was no way out. 

Thus Billy’s thoughts wrestled within her through- 
out the long night and the slow dawn, and it was a 
drawn, white, haggard face that lay sleeping the sleep 
of absolute exhaustion when her maid entered the 
room to draw the blinds in the morning. 

Billy was not required to be in court till noon, but 
Sydney was there pimctually at half-past ten. He 
had professed a brotherly reluctance to leave her, but 
she had insisted on his going on in advance. 

“ There’s no reason why you should miss part of 
the show,” she said, “ and, as a matter of fact, you 
fidget me.” 

So Sydney departed, with a sense of having done 
all that could possibly be expected of him, to Billy’s 
intense relief, for she had a few things on her mind, 
and she didn’t want her brother to be one of them. 

There was an almost electric sensation of expectancy 
in the air of the court that morning, for the case had 
reached a most interesting stage from the point of 
view of the general public. Murray Paget took his 
seat with the complacent nonchalance of one who is 
the centre of observation. Murray Paget liked being 
the centre of observation — it suited him. Presently 
his client would arrive, and then she would occupy 




CHAP. XXV] 


299 


that position, but for the time being he held the centre 
of the stage. 

The usher cried " Silence ” with boisterous aggres- 
siveness, the judge slipped unobtrusively through the 
curtains which guarded the bench as if he hoped he 
wouldn’t be noticed, and Murray Paget rose to open 
the case for the respondent. 

“ May it please you, my Tord, gentlemen of the 
jury,” he began. “ My friend in his opening speech 
described this case as being the story of an extra- 
ordinary marriage. Be that as it may, it is certainly 
the most extraordinary petition for the dissolution of 
one that has ever been presented to this Court ; for it 
is not the petition of a husband seeking a divorce, but 
of his sister who is trying to divorce him against his 
will.” 

A ripple of appreciation spread through the Court. 
Murray Paget was obviously in good form that morning, 
and when that was the case he was worth coming to 
hear. His audience settled down to enjoy themselves 
at the expense of Jerry and Blanche. “ The petitioner 
and his shier ! ” was the refrain which ran through 
the first part of the K.C.’s speech like the accompani- 
ment to a song, but there was a wealth of sarcasm 
and innuendo introduced into the simple words, for 
Murray Paget was a specialist in the art of saying 
nasty things. 

Sydney watched and listened admiringly. This was 
the sort of advocate he liked. He looked round to see 
how Jerry and Blanche were taking all the pretty 
things that were being said about them. Blanche was 
impassive save for an occasional fidget, but Jerry’s 
eyes were fixed upon the face of Murray Paget in a 


300 




[chap. XXV 


fascinated stare, much as if the latter were a boa con- 
strictor, and he himself a rabbit waiting to be eaten. 
Sydney found the little man’s face so irresistibly comic 
that he was reluctantly obliged to turn away his gaze 
lest he should burst into unseemly laughter. He again 
turned his attention to the speaker, who was now pro- 
ceeding to deal with the evidence that had been given 
during the last few days. 

“ What does it amount to ? ” he cried scornfully; 
“ what is the result of all this watching and prying 
upon these two people ? It comes to this, that though 
every one of their acts has been scrutinized for months, 
enveloped by the atmosphere of suspicion, and peered 
at through the microscope of jealousy, not a single 
impropriety in their behaviour towards each other has 
been discovered. I wonder how many people in this 
court could go through such a test and emerge un- 
scathed ! ” 

“ There was Mrs. Peters, you know,” mildly 
murmured Sir Mathew Hake. 

The young K.C. turned on him, hot with his oratory. 

“ Oh yes ! ” he echoed, “ there was Mrs. Peters ! 
Mrs. Peters who saw things and heard things that 
nobody else at any other time or place in the course 
of this continental tour ever imagined ! ” He turned 
to the jury and his voice became impressive with his 
earnestness. 

“ Do you think, gentlemen,” he said, “ that this 
man and woman, if they were guilty, would have been 
so careless in their conduct before that gossiping, 
prying, all-seeing Mrs. Peters, and so cautious when 
there were only unsuspecting foreign hotel attendants 
to note their actions ? ” 


BILIyY 


301 


CHAP, xxv] 

Murray Paget’s speech began to produce a favourable 
effect upon the Court ; one or two of the jurymen com- 
menced to shift in their seats as do men whose minds 
are occupied by conflicting arguments, the judge began 
to take a leisurely interest in Murray Paget’s remarks, 
which he had hitherto ignored. Sydney, with difficulty, 
restrained an inclination to clap, and Pangton leant 
back in his seat contentedly, only regretting that Billy 
was not there to hear how very virtuous she had been. 
Indeed, as Murray Paget’s speech proceeded, Pangton 
began to feel a sense of righteous indignation that the 
conduct of himself and Billy should have been im- 
pugned at all. They had really behaved very well 
under exceedingly trying circumstances, and their 
mutual friendship was one of the beautiful things of 
life at which only the ill-conditioned and impure- 
minded could cavil. That is how Murray Paget’s 
speech affected Pangton. But Murray Paget was a 
persuasive speaker. 

Billy’s counsel had a difficult, up-hill task, but he 
was undoubtedly making headway. He couldn’t win 
her case for her by his speech ; her success or otherwise 
must depend on how she played her part in the witness- 
box. He was, however, paving the way for her to 
obtain a sympathetic reception, and his speech was a 
very artistic piece of work. 

It was now nearing its end, and Billy had not yet 
put in an appearance. Sir Richard Maitland com- 
menced his customary fidget with his glasses ; surely 
she would not be late ; it was dramatically indis- 
pensable that she should go into the box immediately 
her counsel sat down, otherwise his fine speech would 
result in a lamentable anti-climax. Perhaps she had 


302 




[chap. XXV 

overslept herself ? Surely not, for it was past twelve 
o’clock. He turned to Sydney inquiringly, but that 
young gentleman was occupied with a messenger boy, 
who had just handed him a letter. Sydney handed it 
unopened to the solicitor. 

“ This is for you,” he said. 

Sir Richard opened the letter and glanced at it 
carelessly. Then he made a motion as if to rise to his 
feet. Instead of doing so, he turned round and tugged 
at Murray Paget’s gown. The K.C. had just reached 
his peroration and was in no mood to be interrupted. 

“ Be quiet, please,” he whispered angrily. 

“ But look ! ” said Sir Richard ; “ it’s important.” 

Murray Paget snatched up the letter irritably and 
scanned it without interrupting his speech ; then he 
stopped speaking and the sudden silence was startling. 
He read the note through carefully and put it down. 
He paused for a moment. He was about to do the 
most dramatic thing of his life — and he liked doing 
dramatic things. 

Then he spoke in a voice apparently devoid of 
emotion. 

“ My Rord,” he said, “ the respondent withdraws 
her defence.” 


CHAPTER XXVI 


I/Angton found himself walking down the Strand 
without any precise recollection as to how he got 
there. The startling denouement consequent upon 
Billy’s extraordinary letter had, for the time being, 
completely deprived him of such thinking faculties as 
he possessed. He had been apparently the most un- 
moved person in court, probably because he was the 
most affected by what had taken place. His counsel 
and solicitor, on the contrary, had been quite excited. 
They had urged him to go on with his defence, as he 
was entitled to do in spite of Billy’s action, but he had 
refused in the calmest manner possible. 

“ What on earth’s the good ? ” he had said. “ I 
stand or fall with Mrs. Aynesworth,” and he had 
strolled out of court with a nonchalance which earned 
for him the reputation of being the most callous co- 
respondent on record, whereas he was only an exces- 
sively puzzled young man, whose brain had not yet 
been able to grasp the situation. 

His head was buzzing when he got into the street. 
Everything seemed to be buzzing, motor cabs, ’buses, 
lorries, pedestrians, all the turmoil of Eondon traffic, 
and his head seemed to be part of it. The events of 
the last few minutes might have occurred a very long 
time ago, he had such a foggy sort of consciousness of 
what they were. The placards of the early editions of 


303 


304 


BILLY 


[chap. XXVI 

the evening papers with “ The Extraordinary Marriage 
Case " in flashing black type met his eye at every 
street crossing, but conveyed no definite meaning to 
his mind. He did not feel that they had any con- 
nection with himself. The shock which he had re- 
ceived enveloped him in a merciful, mental mist which 
temporarily anaesthetized his senses. 

It was only a temporary anodyne, however. By 
the time he arrived opposite Charing Cross his clouded 
brain was rapidly clearing, and in proportion as it did 
so the noise and bustle of the busy street became more 
and more irritating. It jarred upon him. He wanted 
to get away into some quiet corner and think. He 
turned into the railway station. 

“ First return to anywhere,” he said to the booking 
clerk. 

“ Not on our line, sir,” replied the facetious official. 

“ Well, give me a ticket to somewhere,” said 
Langton. 

The clerk must have noticed the note of distress in 
the speaker’s voice, for he dropped his humour and 
became sympathetic. 

“ About half an hour out do you ? ” he inquired. 

“ Yes.” 

“ Try Chislehurst then,” said the clerk ; “ there’s 
a train just starting.” 

So Langton went to Chislehurst. 

By the time he got there he was nearly himself 
again, and a three-mile walk which he promptly under- 
took reduced him to the normal and gave him an 
appetite into the bargain. He lunched at a quaint 
little inn that happened to be handy. It also chanced 
to possess a small garden occupied by an untenanted 


BIIvLY 


305 


CHAP. XXVl] 

seat, a clothes-line in full sail, and a cat with one eye. 
It was not exactly a spot of rustic beauty, but that 
made it all the better for meditation, as no one was 
likely to come there. 

Bangton went into the garden after lunch, lit his 
pipe and proceeded to think things out. 

He had gone into court that morning in quite a 
cheerful and hopeful frame of mind, which had been 
considerably increased as he sat and listened to the 
eloquence of Murray Paget. Then had come Billy’s 
letter 

He bit at his pipe savagely. 

Why on earth had she done it ? Had she gone 
mad ? What was the meaning of it all ? To lose a 
case fighting was one thing, but to plead guilty was 
quite another. In the first instance one could always 
say that there had been a miscarriage of justice, but 
in the second one was branded for ever. He and 
Billy were labelled self-confessed sinners for the rest 
of their lives. And the worst of it was that they were 
not sinners at all — at least, not in the sense that their 
own avowal proclaimed that they were. 

He knocked the ashes out of his pipe and crammed 
fresh tobacco into the hot bowl. The position was 
momentarily becoming more clear to him, and the 
clearer it became the more unpleasant it appeared. 
He could see the faces of his men friends when next he 
entered the club — perhaps it would be as well not to 
go there for the present — the decided aloofness of his 
feminine ones when he met them in the street — it 
would certainly be advisable to cross the road and 
avoid them. Of course it would all blow over in time 
as far as he was concerned, for the world is disposed to 

X 




306 


[chap. XXVI 


be forgetful of masculine misdeeds ; but as for Billy 
— well, she was damned for ever. She had damned 
herself. She had gone on to the housetops and 
publicly proclaimed herself a wrongdoer. That isn’t 
done. The world couldn’t be expected to forgive 
that ! 

So Billy must always remain under a cloud. Yes, 
but she was going to be his wife. He didn’t want his 
wife to be a perpetual pariah. They had arranged to 
marry if things went wrong, but he had never contem- 
plated that they would go as wrong as this. It wouldn’t 
have mattered if they had fought and lost — they could 
have lived that down, or even if they had never de- 
fended at all — the comparative absence of publicity 
would have enabled them to live that down also. As 
it was — well, he must reconcile himself to a com- 
paratively solitary existence shared by Billy. 

What more did he want ? He shook his pipe out 
again and started another. There had been a time 
when he had thought that he didn’t want more. Of 
course he had been very much in love then. Was he 
not very much in love now ? Ye — es, but one can’t 
be always at boiling-point. At Dieppe he had thought 
that he couldn’t bear to have Billy out of his sight, but 
he had been for several months without her since then 
— and he had had a very good time. Yes, a very good 
time. Of course she was an awful darling, but she 
wasn’t absolutely essential to his existence. One must 
take a sensible view of these things. 

And they would have won their case ; he was sure 
of that after hearing Murray Paget’s speech, and, if 
they had, everything would have been all right. He 
had once said that he rather hoped they might lose ? 


CHAP. XXVl] 




307 


Well, one says all sorts of things on the spur of the 
moment. Especially when one’s in love. Perhaps 
he wasn’t in love now ? He picked up a small stone 
and threw it in the direction of the cat, which was 
placidly regarding him with its solitary eye. 

Oh yes he was ; Billy was splendid company. Well, 
he was going to have plenty of it in future ! 

He got out of his seat. He must go and see Billy. 
He suddenly found himself surprised that he had not 
done so before. He had been so concerned about 
himself that he had really not thought about her at 
all. He began to feel penitent. Of course he ought 
to have gone to her at once. Poor Billy ! She must 
be at home eating her heart out, wondering why he 
didn’t come, and ready to fly into his arms the moment 
he arrived. The prospect was attractive. He paid 
his bill, walked to the station and took the next train 
to London. 

He was in a very chastened mood as he made his 
way to Queen’s Gate. He felt that he had neglected 
Billy when he ought to have been there to comfort her. 
Poor dear ! She must have been half out of her mind 
when she sent that letter. She had doubtless realized 
her folly by now and was in deep distress at the injury 
she had caused him. Well, he would soon put that all 
right, and when she asked him to forgive her he would 
kiss her and tell her there was nothing to forgive. He 
was really feeling quite noble in his prospective benevo- 
lence as he rang the bell and asked if Mrs. Aynesworth 
was at home. 

So that it came as rather a shock to him when he 
found her in the drawing-room calmly partaking of 
buttered toast and tea. 


3o 8 BIIyl/Y [chap. XXVI 

“ Hullo ! Frank,” she said. “ I thought you’d 
turn up some time, so I waited in.” 

lyangton was not prepared to abandon his pre- 
conceived attitude so suddenly. He went up to her 
and kissed her tenderly. 

“ Poor darling ! ” he said. 

“ Poor you ! ” she laughed. “ I’m all buttery.” 

He sat down, with his brain in a whirl at his un- 
expected reception, and mechanically took the cup of 
tea she offered him. 

“ Please explain,” he said in as calm a voice as he 
could manage. 

” Well, in the first place,” she replied, “ I’ve 
arranged with Sir Richard Tremayne that I pay the 
costs — they gave them against you, you know.” 

” Oh, blow the costs ! ” he snapped irritably. 
“ Why did you do it — withdraw your defence, I mean ? ” 

” Because we were bound to lose anyway, so what 
was the good of being blackguarded in the witness-box 
for nothing ? ” 

“ We weren’t bound to do anything of the sort. 
We were winning all along the line. You should have 
heard Murray Paget’s speech this morning ; it was 
splendid.” 

“ And supposing we had won ? ” 

“ Well, that would have been all right, wouldn’t 
it? ” 

“ I should have lost you, Frank. Would that have 
been all right ? ” 

Billy’s voice quavered. Rangton shifted uneasily 
in his seat and spilt his tea. 

“ No,” he said, mopping it up, “ of course it 
wouldn’t. Still, you shouldn’t have done it for ” 


CHAP, xxvi] BIIXY 309 

" I was glad to do it for you,” she interrupted 
proudly. 

Bangton started and spilt some more tea. He put 
his cup down to save further mishaps — there wasn’t 
much left in it. Billy’s last remark had completely 
flabbergasted him. This was an entirely new aspect of 
affairs, a totally different debtor and creditor relation- 
ship to what he had conceived, Billy had sacrificed 
her character for him and was proud of it. Apparently 
he was intended to feel grateful. He didn’t feel a bit 
grateful. He concealed his feelings under a forced 
smile. 

“ Still,” he said, ” you needn’t have used dynamite. 
You might have spoken to me about it first. It was 
an awful shock.” 

“ I suppose it was,” said Billy, “ but I only thought 
of it at the last moment. Oh, I had an awful time last 
night, I can tell you. I knew that whatever happened 
our characters were gone for ever ” 

" Oh, did you ? ” interrupted Langton with angry 
sarcasm ; “ I didn’t know it, anyhow ! ” 

She looked at him surprised. 

“ Why, Frank,” she said, “ what’s the matter ? ” 

He controlled himself with an effort. 

“ Nothing, dear,” he said, “ go on. You were 
saying that you had an awful time.” 

“ Yes,” she continued. “ I didn’t sleep a wink all 
night. If we won the case, our characters were gone 
and we lost each other ; if we lost the case we had each 
other, or rather as much of each other as was left after 
they had finished ballyragging us in the box. I tell 
you candidly, Frank, I fimked it.” 

” It’s not like you to funk things,” he commented. 


310 


BILLY 


[chap. XXVI 

“ I know, and I shouldn’t have funked this if our 
going on had been any good. But it wasn’t, not the 
least. And then at last, this morning, when I was 
feeling awfully rotten, I thought of that letter. I 
suppose I ought to have seen you first, but there wasn’t 
time. I just sat down and scribbled it right away. 
Oh, you can’t think what a relief it was to me when it 
was sent off and the wretched thing was done with. 
I’ve felt as right as rain ever since.” 

Langton couldn’t stand it any longer. Billy was 
always cock-sure of herself, but on this occasion she 
was cock-sure of him too. That was the limit. He 
got up with obvious impatience. 

“ I think you ought to see a doctor,” he said. 

“Good Lord!” cried Billy. “Why? I’m all 
right now ? ” 

Langton lost his temper. 

“ Oh, damn ! ” he said, and kicked over a footstool 
and hurt his foot. 

Billy began to see that something was wrong. Her 
eyes clouded with apprehension, for she loved this man. 

“ You’re not angry with me, Frank ? ” 

He snatched at his hat and moved towards the 
door. 

“ Yes, I am,” he answered. I think j^ou’ve 
behaved like a fool ! ” 


CHAPTER XXVII 


It isn’t pleasant to be cut. Not even if you have 
anticipated it, prepared for it and convinced yourself 
that you don’t care. You find that you do care. 
Billy found that she cared very much. 

Not that she was ostentatiously cut. It was very 
quietly done. People whom she knew always chanced 
to be looking the other way when she passed them in 
the street. She took to avoiding them so as not to 
impose upon them the necessity of avoiding her. This 
on one occasion had awkward consequences, when she 
crossed the road to prevent meeting a dear friend of 
former days and the dear friend adopted the same 
manoeuvre for the same purpose, with the result that 
they practically ran into each other on the opposite 
side of the street. The dear friend temporarily lost 
her presence of mind and was about to speak instead 
of passing on, so Billy did the cutting herself and 
calmly pursued her way with the feeling that she had 
distinctly scored. 

Billy, as has been said, was a person with many 
acquaintances but few friends — that is to say, in the 
real sense of the term. Consequently, her ostracism 
was perhaps more complete than would have been the 
case with some one differently circumstanced. Mrs. 
Mervyn stood by her, and Lady Fairborough, and 
Mabel Cartright, and of course Jim — that is to say, 
311 


312 


BIIvIyY 


[chap. XXVII 

their attitude of friendliness towards her remained un- 
altered. They, of course, did not doubt her guilt. 
How could they when she herself had proclaimed it ? 

Jim she saw but seldom, for his increasing practice 
occupied more and more of his attention. Billy was 
really not sorry for this, for Jim was not a very cheerful 
companion under existing circumstances. He used to 
sit silent for minutes at a time and regard her with 
sympathetic, sorrowful eyes, which Billy found most 
depressing. She longed to tell him that she wasn’t 
really as wicked as he thought her — for she valued his 
good opinion — but on reflection she wasn’t sure that 
he wouldn’t think her still more wicked if he knew the 
real facts of the case ; Jim had such peculiar notions. 
Anyhow, she didn’t tell him, nor any one else, and, 
after a time, she got accustomed to being considered 
as bad as, by her own act, she had asked people to 
believe. 

Billy’s conduct may seem to require some explana- 
tion. It has been stated that in many respects she 
was almost a sexless creature. Yet, her behaviour in 
embracing a shame of which she was iimocent in order 
that she might marry her lover would, on the contrary, 
seem to imply that she was a creature whom passion 
impelled to fling reason to the winds. So to judge 
might be rational but it would be to misunderstand 
Billy. She was able to do almost lightheartedly what 
no woman uninfluenced by passion could do because 
she so utterly failed to appreciate the gravity of what 
she did. She had trampled unconcernedly upon the 
conventions all her life and she was being uncon- 
ventional now. Very unconventional, no doubt. She 
admitted this much to herself, but her conscience did 


BlIXY 


313 


CHAP. XXVIl] 

not prick her for having assumed an offence of which 
she was innocent, possibly because it was an offence 
of which she was incapable. For Billy was a clean- 
minded girl. All her dealings with Langton had 
shown that. She had been forced into the Divorce 
Court, and had finally made use of it as a means of 
escape from an impossible position. It may be said of 
her that she had a sense missing — the moral sense — 
and truly said, so long as one remembers that that 
does not imply the substitution of an immoral one. 

But her present position by no means gave her 
undiluted satisfaction. It is true that she had ex- 
perienced a great feeling of relief when she had penned 
her memorable letter and despatched it. That was the 
relief which always follows the adoption of a definite 
course of action after a period of suspension and 
doubt. 

True again that when Dangton saw her that 
evening she was quite satisfied with herself. His 
criticism of her conduct had been the first blow to her 
self complacency, and others speedily followed — the 
avoidance of people she knew, the inquisitive stares of 
those she did not but who knew her, and, worst of all, 
the distress caused to her parents. Her mother was 
loving and tearful — she came up to London to see her 
erring daughter and cried over her till Billy broke down 
herself ; it took a lot to make Billy cry. Her father — 
didn’t come up to London and, from what her mother 
told her, Billy was glad of it. Sydney — well, Sydney 
was a younger brother and could be sat upon, an 
operation which Billy could be trusted to perform 
thoroughly. 

She saw a good deal of Mrs. Mervyn and Lady 


314 


BILLY 


[chap. XXVII 

Fairborough — that is to say, they came to see her, as 
she couldn’t call on them for fear of meeting people. 
She thoughtlessly did so once — about a week after the 
case was over — and of course walked into a regular 
crowd. 

“ Never again ! ” she remarked as she left. “ Why 
I seemed to turn all their tea sour.” 

Langton was her most constant companion. He 
turned up at Queen’s Gate on the day after his out- 
burst in her drawing-room. He was in a most apolo- 
getic mood, and she, of course, forgave him at once. 
But although they were continually together they 
didn’t get very much satisfaction out of each other’s 
society. Their actions were so limited, for they were 
marked people. Golf and rinking were out of the 
question, the studio seemed to have lost much of its 
attractiveness — anyhow, in Billy’s eyes, after the 
suggestions which had been made in reference to it — 
so they had to fall back upon the theatres and such- 
like methods of passing the time. Even at the theatre 
they were not safe from the significant looks of people 
they knew. Curiously enough, Langton was the most 
sensitive of the two on this point. But then Billy was 
verj'’ much in love. 

“ This is awful,” he said at last one day. “ Look 
here, let’s cut and run.” 

“ Meaning ? ” said Billy. 

” Let’s go right away together where nobody knows 
us.” 

“ As we did before ? ” she asked. 

“ No, certainly not. I’m sick of the brother and 
sister game. We’ll go as we ought to do, as man and 
wife. After all, it doesn’t matter. The decree will be 


BILLY 


CHAP. XXVIl] 


315 


made absolute in six months, and then we’ll get married 
and be respectable people world without end.” 

Billy shifted uneasily in her seat, 

“ I’d rather not,” she said. “ I’d rather wait till 
after the decree.” 

“ But why ? ” he queried, surprised. “ What 
difference does it make. All the world knows ” 

“ There you’re wrong,” she interrupted. “ The 
world doesn’t know, only you and I know ; the world 
thinks it knows.” 

“ Well, it’s the same thing,” he objected. 

“ It isn’t at all,” she answered. ” There’s our self- 
respect — anyhow, there’s mine.” 

He took a turn up and down the room before he 
answered her. Then he sat down and his voice had 
softened. 

” You’re an awful good sort, dear,” he said. ” You 
mean you want to play the game so far as Jerry is con- 
cerned right up to the end.” 

“ That’s about it,” she answered. " You see, I’m 
his wife until the decree is absolute. Of course he 
thinks, as everybody does, that I’ve gone back on him, 
but you and I know that I haven’t, and — while I’m his 
wife I’m not going to. It may be just a fad of mine, 
but there it is.” 

“ All right,” he assented ; “ but if we can’t go away 
together, what shall we do ? ” 

“ Go away separately,” she replied. “ Oh yes,” 
she continued laughing, “ I can spare you for six 
months now that I know that I am going to have you 
for ever. Before it was different.” 

So Billy and Langton ceased to be one of the minor 
improper entertainments of London. Langton departed 


BIIvIvY 


[chap, xxvn 


316 

on a motor tour, armed with his golf clubs and 
promising to write full accounts of his doings, and 
Billy remained in London in a state of “ suspended 
social animation,” as she remarked to Lady Fairborough 
the next time she called. 

“Poor dear!” said the latter; “you’re just 
entering the tunnel, and it’s a long, dark one, but there’s 
daylight the other end.” 

“Yes,” replied Billy, who was feeling rather down 
in the mouth, “ but it’s only a horrid little blur at 
present.” 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


Christine Seeden was an adorably pretty girl — at 
least, Langton thought so. He had known her now 
for about a week, so he had had ample opportunity of 
judging. Christine was staying with her mother at 
the Hygienic Hotel, Aston Pines — or rather, living 
there, for they had arrived about a year ago for the 
benefit of Mrs. Selden’s health and had stopped ever 
since. Mrs. Selden was a delicate, frail woman with a 
tendency towards chest trouble, and Aston Pines was 
apparently created by a thoughtful Providence for the 
express purpose of being the residence of people so 
circumstanced, for it provided them with air that was 
bracing enough to stimulate their lungs, whilst it re- 
mained sufficiently soft not to disturb their hearts. 
Moreover, Aston Pines was fortunate enough to obtain 
a more than average share of any blue sky and sun- 
shine with which this country might occasionally be 
favoured. Consequently, the Borough Council, with 
a due sense of what the aforesaid Providence had done 
for them in the way of natural attractions, declined to 
provide any on their own account, a course of conduct 
which conduced to economy in the rates but hardly to 
the entertainment of the visitors. It has been suggested 
— in fact, one day at a council meeting it was boldly 
asserted in opposition to the proposal to institute a 
town band — that the visitors would have to come there 


3«7 


3i8 


BILLY 


[chap. XXVIII 

any way, so that the band would only be a useless waste 
of money. Indeed, the speaker said, “ it was possible 
the visitors wouldn't like it if they got it,” which, 
judging from the musical capacity of the town, was 
extremely probable. 

Aston Pines was therefore an exceedingly dull place, 
and the visitors were consequently thrown back upon 
themselves and the resources of the hotels they patro- 
nized for entertainment. Most of the hotels possessed 
similar views to the Borough Council on the subject, 
but the Hygienic was slightly more enterprising, for it 
laid out a nine-hole golf course in the extensive grounds 
which belonged to it, and provided what is called 
“ weekly entertainments.” “ Weakly entertainments ” 
they were styled by one of the guests who passed as a 
wag — humour is cheap at Aston Pines — and the title 
was certainly well deserved, for they consisted in the 
management permitting such strolling entertainers as 
visited the town to give a show in the hotel drawing- 
room, and afterwards to go round with the hat. No 
strolling entertainer was ever known to repeat the 
experience, however, for the results were not financially 
encouraging. As for the nine-hole golf course, it could 
only be called such by courtesy. It had nine holes 
with flags in them, and nine precisely similar mounds 
of earth, deposited there by the hotel gardener under 
the impression that he was creating bunkers. He was 
also under the impression that the roller which stood 
in one corner of the course was intended to be a per- 
manent fixture, and that such grass cutting as might 
become necessary would form a pleasant source of 
exercise for the visitors if they could find the lawn- 
mower. There was also a tennis court in the hotel 


CHAP. XXVIIl] BILIvY 319 

garden. It was marked out on an extremely lumpy 
lawn, and the net was in a condition which permitted 
balls to be served over it or through it at pleasure, 
thus catering for all tastes. 

The presence of Christine Selden at the Hygienic is 
naturally explained by that of her mother, but it was 
certainly not the place in which one would have ex- 
pected to find Langton. As a matter of fact, it was 
pure accident which brought him there, the pure 
accident being caused by defective steering through 
Aston Pines High Street of the driver of the Borough 
Council’s steam roller — or of Bangton ; it is a question 
upon which both the parties involved held widely 
divergent views. The steam roller easily came off best, 
and Bangton was obliged to put his car into hospital ; he 
himself was unhurt. The man at the garage told him 
that it would “ only be a matter of two or three days ” 
— but they have a different standard of measuring time 
in Aston Pines than in any other place in the world, 
and it was a week before he saw it again. Then he 
didn't recognize it, for it was somebody else’s car 
which they had repaired by mistake, the owner of 
which had long since given up hope of its ever being 
repaired at all. This meant more delay, but Bangton 
didn’t chafe at it so much as he might otherwise have 
done — for by this time he had got to know Christine 
Selden. 

He had to put up at the Hygienic, it being obviously 
the best hotel in the place, and he very soon became 
acquainted with the Seldens. His table was next to 
theirs, and the waiter happened to upset his soup over 
their tablecloth. This naturally led to apologies from 
Bangton, and a discussion on waiters in general, and 


320 


BILI,Y 


[chap, xxvih 

this waiter in particular. It also led to their sharing 
Bangton’s table for the rest of the meal, at the con- 
clusion of which they had got to know each other 
extremely well. Mrs. Selden liked the new-comer very 
much. He was quite an attractive young man, and 
attractive young men rarely visited the Hygienic. Had 
she known that he was a recently created co-respondent 
she might not have liked him so much. But she didn’t 
know that, and there was no one in the hotel to enlighten 
her. Aston Pines takes but a languid interest in the 
affairs of the outside world, and the intelligence which 
it brings to bear upon the morning newspapers is 
extremely limited. 

After dinner Bangton went into the lounge and 
wrote to Billy. He wrote to her now several times a 
week, and she was equally communicative. He some- 
times found this correspondence rather an effort, for 
he was not a ready writer. Of course, a lover should 
have no difficulty in writing to the one he loves — but 
then that depends upon how much he loves her. 
Bangton told himself that he loved Billy very much. 
He was always giving himself this piece of information 
now — formerly it wasn’t necessary. To-night he found 
letter-writing easy. He had a good deal to say, 
especially about steam rollers. He also mentioned the 
dinner incident — “ the mother is a charming woman,” 
he wrote, “ and the girl seems quite nice, and is rather 
pretty. Her name is Christine.” 

His intimacy with Christine began the next day. 
He strolled out after breakfast for a smoke, and foimd 
her putting on one of the greens of the golf course. 
It was a very bad green, and an equally bad perform- 
ance on her part. Every time her ball swerved off 


CHAP. XXVIII] BILIyY 321 

the line, and never went within a yard of the 
hole. 

“ Oh, bother the thing ! ” she cried pettishly at 
last. 

“ Bet me see if I can help you,” he said, picking 
up her putter, which she had thrown on to the ground. 

He studied the line of putt carefully — there was a 
very big slope away from the hole ; he made due allow- 
ance for it, and made his stroke. His ball started off 
in any direction but that of the hole, then it encountered 
a dip which deflected it somewhat, then another, and 
then the trend of the slope caused it to curve right 
round on to the hole, it hovered on the brink and 
disappeared. 

" That was lucky,” said Bangton ; “ but you see 
the idea. You must allow for the hill — ‘ borrowing,’ 
we call it.” 

“ Oh ! ” she exclaimed, “ what a lovely shot ! You 
must be an awfully good player.” 

“ I’ve played a good deal,” he replied modestly, 
but her outspoken admiration was very sweet to him. 

“ Would you like to have a round ? ” he asked her 
presently. 

“ I should love to,” she answered ; ” but I’m no 
good at all ; I’m only a beginner.” 

” All the better,” he said ; “ then, perhaps, I may 
be able to give you a few hints.” 

They went indoors and fetched their clubs — his, 
war-worn, well-polished veterans ; hers, rusty but 
inexperienced recruits. They went to the first tee. 
It was a plain, simple hole, about two hundred and 
fifty yards long, and with no obstacle between the tee 
and the green except the badly kept course with its 

Y 


323 


BILI.Y 


[chap. XXVIII 

excruciating lies and the harmless mound of earth that 
has been mentioned. Bangton let fly at his ball with 
all his might and hit a perfect drive which pitched 
just short of the green and ran on to within a dozen 
feet of the hole. The wind was slightly against him, 
and the shot was a remarkable one. 

He turned to his companion with expectant pride 
in his eyes. 

“ Where is it ? ” she asked. “ Was it a good one ? ” 

Her untrained eye had been unable to follow the 
flight of the ball. Tangton was disappointed, for he 
had expected applause. 

" It wasn’t a bad one,” he said ; “ it’s somewhere 
on the green.” 

Then he got all the applause he wanted. Under 
normal circumstances they would have proceeded to 
the ladies’ tee, which was about thirty yards in front 
of them, for Christine to drive. But she didn’t want 
to drive ; she wanted to see where this, to her eyes, 
extraordinary shot had gone. When they arrived at 
the green, and Uangton succeeded in holing his putt — 
it was a bit of a fluke, but there was no occasion to 
say so — her admiration knew no bounds. 

“ Why,” she cried, “ you’re a regular magician,” 
and after that she declined to play at all herself, but 
insisted on his doing so, and followed him round and 
applauded all his shots, good, bad, and indifferent — 
and he made a good many indifferent ones, which 
under the circumstances was not to be wondered at. 

After that it is easy to see how the intimacy between 
Uangton and Christine grew. He was peculiarly sus- 
ceptible to admiration. He had got it, of course, from 
Billy, but it was not supplied by her in the wholesale 


CHAP. XXVIIl] 




323 


manner in which he now received it. Billy had admired 
him as one who could do things rather better than her- 
self, Christine admired him as one who could do things 
which she would never be able to do at all. Of course, 
Christine’s admiration was merely the unreasonable 
adulation of a mere girl, whereas Billy’s had been more 
matured ; but Bangton found it intensely satisfactory, 
for all that. Most people may deplore his weakness in 
being gratified by this hero worship ; but then, most 
people do not get the chance of being weak in that way 
themselves. 

The time arrived when even the Aston Pines garage 
managed to effect the necessary repairs to Bangton’s 
car, and he was at liberty to depart. But somehow 
he wasn’t inclined to do so. Aston Pines had become 
very attractive to him. He found it rather difficult 
to explain this to Billy in his letters — she had been 
curious as to his long stay in one spot — “ the air is 
beautiful,” he wrote, “ and the scenery all that can 
be desired,” — he would have found it difficult to 
expatiate upon the scenery, for it was practically non- 
existent — “ there is quite a good golf course here too,” 
— this was an awful he ; he felt he must qualify it a 
little, so he wrote : — “ at least it is awfully handy, which 
is a great recommendation.” 

To his credit, be it said, Bangton had no actual 
knowledge of how far his relations with Christine had 
progressed. She, poor little simple soul, had fallen 
hopelessly in love with this tall, strong man with the 
laughing eyes who had come into her life. She had 
met but few men, and she had never met a man like 
him before. She thought he was wonderful, and she 
was too natural not to show it. At first all went well. 


324 


BILLY 


[chap. XXVIII 


They had a very good time together. She owned a 
camera, and they snapshotted each other until she had 
used up all her films, and he filled a sketch book with 
more or less accurate portraits of her — that is to say, 
when he wasn’t trying to teach her golf, a very pleasant 
task, but a hopeless one. 

Then, one evening, an incident happened which 
partly opened his eyes to the true position of affairs. 
The management of the Hygienic Hotel, stirred by an 
unwonted impulse, organized an hotel dance. It was 
quite a small, homely affair, but an attempt was made 
to make it as gay as possible by means of decking the 
“ ball-room ” — so named for the occasion — with multi- 
coloured draperies and a few Japanese lanterns. Not 
many guests took part in the dance, but Langton and 
Christine did — the latter regarding it as " awful fun.” 
Langton was practically her only partner. Mrs. Selden 
was quite content ; she liked the young man, and she 
knew nothing against him. 

Langton was waltzing with Christine when rather 
an alarming thing happened which might have had 
serious consequences. One of the Japanese lanterns 
caught fire, and commenced to splutter flames in 
dangerous proximity to the flimsy decorations. Some 
fool shouted “ fire ! ” and another fool tried to blow 
the burning lantern out, which, as it was about some 
feet above his head, was a singularly silly proceeding. 
Langton left his partner, and giving a little jump, 
clasped the lantern in his hand, tore it from its fastening, 
and stamped it to tinder. It was a very small thing 
to do, but it was quickly and neatly done, and it un- 
doubtedly saved the situation. Langton ruined his 
glove in the process, and slightly burnt his hand. 


CHAP. XXVIIl] BII^LY 325 

“ I’m afraid that’s the end of this waltz,” he said 
as he rejoined his partner; “ unless you want your 
back covered with soot. Shall we go and sit the rest 
of this out ? ” 

They sought a secluded spot, and then, to Lang- 
ton’s intense surprise and embarrassment, Christine 
burst into tears. 

“ Oh,” she sobbed, “ it was noble of you.” 

“ What nonsense ! ” he laughed ; “ any fool can 
pull down a lantern.” 

“ But no fool did,” she answered. “ I think 
you’re ” 

She didn’t finish her sentence, but she looked at 
him with swimming eyes, and in those eyes Bangton 
saw what he had read in the eyes of somebody else. 
It brought him to his senses. This wasn’t playing the 
game to Billy — or Christine. 

A week later he left. He felt that it was the 
only thing to do. He was going to marry Billy, not 
Christine. It wasn’t fair to the latter that he should 
stay. It wasn’t fair to Billy. A little longer and 
he felt that he might have wavered in his allegiance 
to her ; he had an uneasy feeling that he was wavering 
now. 

So he went. 

Christine’s distress at his departure was painfully 
transparent. 

“ You’ll come back ? ” she queried, trying to speak 
calmly. 

“ Oh, I expect so,” he answered. “ Oh yes, I’m 
sure to,” he added hastily as he saw her lip quiver. He 
was determined that he would do nothing of the sort ; 
he could easily write later and explain. 


326 BIIylyY [chap, xxxhii 

Christine at the last moment brought him a little 
book. 

“ It’s the photographs you took of me,” she ex- 
plained ; “ they’ve just come from the developing man, 
and I mounted them in here myself.” 

“ Thanks awfully,” he murmured in a husky voice. 
The girl’s gift touched him deeply. He felt that he 
had behaved badly to her, trifled with her affections. 
He endeavoured to console himself with the thought 
that he had not intended to, but it gave him small 
comfort. 

Experienced worldly people will doubtless say that 
Christine was a forward little minx, that she had 
thrown herself at the head of this man, and that she 
deserved all that she got. Experienced worldly people 
are not fit judges of the childlike heart of an inex- 
perienced girl like Christine. This was her first love 
affair, and she gave all that she had openly and freely. 
Doubtless, as she became older and more like her judges, 
she would give less. 

And now a bad time set in for Eangton. 

He had left Christme because he had realized that 
she had fallen in love with him. He was now to realize 
that he had fallen in love with her. The truth did not 
come to him all at once, but gradually, as he journeyed 
from place to place and found that her face, her form, 
her every gesture, were always present in his mind. 
He sought to drive her out of it by writing long letters 
to Billy. Needless to say, those letters contained no 
mention of Christine. But the remedy was ineffective. 
He wrote to Billy, but he thought of Christine. “ Come 
back, come back,” he seemed to hear her say. He 
wanted to do so awfully. 


BILIvY 


327 


CHAP. XXVIIl] 

He took himself seriously to task over the matter. 
He reviewed all Billy’s charms, and compared them 
with the attractions of this chit of a girl. Pooh ! 
Billy won in a canter, her rival was a mere child with 
nothing to recommend her but a pretty face and 
kittenish ways. Ah, but the mere child had found a 
place in his heart that Billy had never occupied. Billy 
was a pal, their friendship was a co-partnership ; Chris- 
tine was a little loving soul of which he was the sole 
proprietor. Billy regarded him as a companion, Chris- 
tine as a protector ; the one would march through life 
on his arm, the other wanted to be carried. It was 
the call of the weak to the strong — a call that seldom 
fails. 

He raged within himself at his defection, combated 
it. Billy was all that any man could desire, and she 
loved him. And he loved her. That was true. He 
did honestly, sincerely, but it was the love of a brother 
for a sister, not of a husband for a wife. Well, anyhow, 
he had got to marry her. Got to ? Of course he was 
going to. Then why think about this other girl ? He 
must put her out of his mind. 

And he tried to, tried hard, motored here and there, 
and golfed on various courses, but always that imagined 
cry “ come back ” rang in his ears. 

So he went back to Aston Pines. 


CHAPTER XXIX 


“ Dear Frank, 

“ Neither you nor I seem to be sufficiently 
famous for Aston Pines to have the slightest idea who 
we are. At any rate, you appear to have been able to 
spend a considerable time there and pass for a respect- 
able person ! So as I am bored with trotting about to 
uninteresting places I propose to come and sample 
the attractions of the Hygienic Hotel for a day or two. 
I expect you will see me about as soon as you do this 
letter, and I hope you will be pleased ! 

“ Yours, 

“ Bieey.” 

This was the letter, written with the most innocent 
intentions in the world, which Eangton found on his 
breakfast plate one morning. It is unnecessary to 
enlarge upon the emotions with which he read it. 
He was relieved that Christine was late for breakfast 
that morning — her mother never came down to it — 
for it enabled him to think out some plan of action. 
He wasn’t long in making up his mind. He and Billy 
mustn’t meet at that hotel, and, since she was coming 
there, he must leave, and at once if he was to avoid her. 
He rushed upstairs and flung a few things into a bag, 
came down again, paid his bill up to date, explained 
to the office clerk that he was called up to Eondon on 
328 


BILLY 


CHAP. XXIX] 


329 


business and should be back in a few days, and made 
for the station as fast as a fly could take him. 

Arrived at the station he found that he had half 
an hour to wait for a train — he had left in far too great 
a hurry to consult a time table — but, fortunately, it 
was still early, and Billy couldn't arrive from London 
for some hours. He leant back in his carriage with a 
sigh of relief when his train started. He hadn’t the 
slightest idea of what he was going to do, but at any 
rate he had dodged an awkward situation. The idea 
of running away from Billy was rather comic when 
he came to think of it — especially as he was going 
to marry her in a few weeks’ time. Was he going to 
marry her ? Of course he was. He wasn’t going to 
break his word. He was an honourable man. Was he ? 
Well, he couldn’t help Christine falling in love with 
him, nor himself with her. It was very unfortunate. 
But he was going to marry Billy. 

So Langton rattled Londonwards what time Billy 
pursued her way in exactly the opposite direction. 
Langton lunched at his club and Billy at the Hygienic 
Hotel. She had inquired for Langton at the office 
when she arrived and, needless to say, was consider- 
ably surprised at his sudden departure. However, 
she was at Aston Pines now, so she might as well stop. 
She went into the dining-room and chose a table for 
lunch. She selected a secluded spot. It was from 
habit rather than necessity, for she was sure nobody 
knew her there, but she had been keeping out of the 
limelight a good deal lately. 

The head waiter came and attended to her wants. 
He was a conversational soul who deemed it his duty to 
make things bright and cheerful for visitors at the time 


330 


BIUyY 


[chap. XXIX 


of their arrival and departure — especially the latter. 
During the intervening period he left them severely 
alone. He now remarked upon the fineness of the 
weather, the length of Billy’s journey, and incidentally 
directed her attention to the contents of the menu. 
Billy glanced at it carelessly. 

“ Is the house full ? ” she queried. 

“ Oh no, ma’am, this is not exactly our season. 
Still we have a tidy few — a tidy few.” 

Roberts — that was the head waiter’s name — usually 
repeated the end of his sentences, it made more of 
them. 

“A Mr. Dangton is staying here, isn’t he? ” continued 
Billy. 

“ Was, ma’am, was. But he’s left now. Very 
sudden it was too ; yes, very sudden.” 

“ What was sudden ? ” 

“ Why, his leaving, ma’am. You see, he had been 
here quite a long time ; oh, quite ” 

” Staying for his health, I suppose ? ” Billy inter- 
rupted. She found Roberts’ echo rather irritating. 

Roberts almost permitted himself to wink, but, of 
course, he did nothing of the sort. He lowered his 
voice to the confidential tone peculiar to waiters. 

“ Well,” he said, “ it seemed to do him a ’eap of 
good; oh, a ’eap ” 

” What was the matter with him ? ” 

The head waiter became still more confidential. 

“ Well, ma’am, you see those two ladies,” — he 
directed Billy’s attention to Mrs. Selden and Christine, 
who were sitting at the opposite side of the room — 
“ Mr. Dangton, he sat at that table, and — oh, it did him 
a 'eap of good,” he chanted. 


CHAP. XXIX] Bllvlvy 331 

“ Really ! ” said Billy ; “ is there anything special 
about that table ? ” 

“ Mr. Bangton, he thought so,” continued Roberts, 
“ very special. Oh, I shouldn’t be surprised,” he 
added sentimentally, “ if there was wedding bells in 
the air.” 

“ What on earth do you mean ? ” asked Billy. 

“ Well, of course, I don’t know anything,” said 
Roberts, “ but I rather think that Mr. Bangton and 
the young lady are engaged, at least, if they aren’t, I 
expects they soon will be, and a very pretty picture 
they’ll make, I’m sure.” 

“Oh, are you?” said Billy; “ I think I’ll have some 
cold beef, please.” 

She ate her lunch, puzzled but not perturbed. She 
regarded the head waiter as a talkative busybody. 
It was certainly rather curious that Bangton shopld 
have sat at that table, but then, it contained the only 
pretty girl in the room, so that merely showed his good 
taste. Probably he had flirted with her a little. Well, 
why shouldn’t he ? Billy was not jealous. Of course, 
he had stayed a very long time, but that was ex- 
plained by the fact that there was a good golf course 
handy. 

After lunch she went to have a look at the golf 
course. She had some difficulty in finding it. At 
length she appealed to the gardener, whom she met, 
to show her the way. He looked at her reproachfully. 

“ Golf course ! ” he said ; “ why, you’re in the 
middle of it now.” 

Then Billy did begin to feel uneasy. “ Quite a 
good golf course,” Bangton had called it. He couldn’t 
have been referring to this dreary waste. Why, he 


332 BILLY [chap, xxix 

wouldn’t have condescended to play on it. She turned 
to the gardener. 

“ Perhaps there are other links near here ? ” she 
said. 

“ Perhaps there are,” he replied with withering 
sarcasm, “ but I’ve lived ’ere man and boy fifty-six 
year come Michaelmas and I ain’t ’eard on ’em,” and 
he trudged off. 

Billy’s uneasiness increased. She wandered aim- 
lessly about the hotel grounds for some time, and then 
sat down in a deserted summer-house which she came 
across. It was a dirty, ramshackle place, but she was 
not in the mood to bother about dust or cobwebs. 
Langton’s conduct had been very extraordinary, and 
the more she thought about it the more extraordinary 
it appeared. She was not a jealous young woman, 
and she was quite sensible enough to accept such gossip 
as she heard with a liberal discount. Still, she could 
not get out of her mind the things that the head waiter 
had told her. He might be a fool, and he was obviously 
a gossip, but he had been quite sincere when he voiced 
his idea that Langton and that girl were engaged. 
“ My word ! ” thought Billy, ” Frank must have been 
going it ! ” She tried to think of it on that footing, 
that Langton had been merely flirting, had overdone 
it a bit perhaps, but — she couldn’t avoid the reflection 
that he had apparently been so occupied for some 
considerable time. And again, his sudden unexplained 
disappearance was most unsatisfactory. She consoled 
herself with the thought that she would doubtless 
receive a letter by the next post which would make 
everything clear. It was ridiculous to suppose that 
he had run away from her, Billy. It was much more 


CHAP. XXIX] 


BIIvIvY 


333 


probable that he had run away from that girl. Yes, 
of course, that was it — the girl had made a violent set 
at him, he had rather liked it — at first — any man would 
— and had finally found that he was getting too much 
of a good thing, and had cleared out. 

Billy rose from her seat with a sigh of real satis- 
faction. She felt that she had solved the problem. 
She left the summer-house very much happier than she 
had entered it. But she had begun to take a dislike 
to Christine Selden. What a forward little thing she 
must be. 

Poor little Christine was having rather a bad time 
at present. The disappearance of the man whom she 
considered the most wonderful being in the world was 
a great shock to her, especially as he had left without 
a word of explanation or farewell. Still, she took 
comfort from the fact that the hotel people expected 
him back. All the same, she thought that he might 
have found time to say good-bye. She determined to 
tell him when he returned that he had been very unkind. 

Billy’s expectations of receiving a letter from 
Langton were not disappointed. It arrived the next 
evening just as she was going in to dinner. 

“ I’ve been called up to Bondon on business,” he 
wrote, “ and I don’t quite know when I shall be 
back. Unless you are making a prolonged stay at 
Aston Pines, I don’t think I shall come back at all, 
but wait here in Town till you return.” 

It was the “ business ” that worried her. What sort 
of business could he possibly have ? He was obviously 
lying. And then, why wasn’t he coming back ? 
Because he was afraid. Afraid of what ? And then 
her brow cleared. Of course he was afraid to come back 


334 


BILLY 


[chap. XXIX 


on account of the girl, he was afraid that Christine 
might continue to overwhelm him with attentions 
which had become unwelcome. He obviously wasn’t 
afraid of her, Billy, because he was going to wait for 
her in London. 

Billy was reading her letter at dinner. She glanced 
across the room at the opposite table. Christine was 
reading one too. It appeared to distress her. She 
crumpled it up and put it away in her dress and went 
on with her soup. Suddenly she put her spoon down, 
rose hurriedly from the table, and left the room. She 
didn’t reappear that evening. Billy wondered whether 
it was the letter or the soup. She wasn’t naturally a 
curious woman, but she would have given something 
to have read that letter. She was sure that it was 
from Langton. Well, why not ? Probably he had 
thought it best to put a stopper on things. He had 
very likely told Christine that he was an engaged man. 

It was very natural that Billy should desire to know 
more about Christine than she could ascertain by 
glancing at her across the dining-room. So she availed 
herself of the first opportunity that arose for making 
her acquaintance. She wondered what sort of girl 
this was, whose charms had first attracted and then 
terrified Langton. She hardly knew what she expected 
to find, but she certainly didn’t expect to like her. 
As a matter of fact, she did like her very much. Chris- 
tine’s shy, subdued manner and sweet ways swept away 
all Billy’s prejudices before the two had been talking 
together half an hour. Billy began to feel more hardly 
towards Langton, not for any defection from herself, 
but for trifling with the affections of such a fragile, 
inexperienced little soul as Christine. Here was no 


CHAP. XXIX] 


BIIvIvY 


335 


woman of the world up to every move of the game of 
flirtation, but an unfledged beginner who had never 
held the cards in her hands before. Billy felt quite 
angry with Bangton. Of course, he hadn’t meant any 
harm ; but he shouldn’t have done it. 

And so Christine found a friend in Billy, 

Billy hoped that Christine’s fancy for Bangton 
might prove to be as passing as his had obviously been 
for her. With a view to ascertaining this she stayed 
on for a few days at the Hygienic, and during that time 
the two girls came to know each other very well. But 
Billy was in a very awkward position. She couldn’t 
very well cross-examine the other as to the state of 
her affections, and Christine, whilst childishly open 
on all other subjects, was singularly discreet as to this. 

At the end of a week Billy was no wiser as to 
whether this quiet little girl was still suffering from 
Bangton’s absence, or whether she was getting over it. 
She went up to bed that night puzzling over the matter. 
She paused outside Christine’s bedroom door. 

Christine had retired earlier than usual that evening, 
saying that she had rather a headache, but the light 
gleamed under her door indicating that she hadn’t yet 
gone to sleep. Billy thought she would knock and say 
“ good night.” But she did not do so. A sound 
restrained her. It was the sound of some one sobbing 
as if her heart would break. 

That told Billy what she wanted to know. 


CHAPTER XXX 


Eangxon walked in the direction of Queen’s Gate, 
somewhat troubled in his mind. He was going to call 
upon Billy in response to a note which she had sent 
him apprising him of her return from Aston Pines. 
He was doubtful of the reception that he would get, 
but it wasn’t that which was disturbing him. It was 
the vague uneasiness of which he was conscious at the 
prospect of seeing her again. Much had occurred 
since he had seen her last. He had met Christine and 
he had fallen in love with her. And he was still in 
love with her. That was a fact which he could not 
conceal from himself, but he must conceal it from 
Billy. Eor he was going to marry Billy. She must 
never guess that anything had come between her love 
and him. He knew that she loved him, and he 
earnestly desired to be worthy of it. But he couldn’t 
help loving Christine. 

Eangton was an honest-minded young man, and 
he was awfully fond of Billy. He still loved her, and 
would always love her, but it was the love of a 
brother, and not that of a husband. The one 
may be as deep and true as the other, but the 
difference is fundamental. It was only since he 
had met Christine that this difference had become 
apparent to him. He had fought against it, striven 
with it since his return to London, as indeed he had 
336 


CHAP. XXX] 


BILLY 


337 


done on that previous occasion when he had said 
good-bye to Aston Pines. But as in the first instance 
he had given up the struggle and returned to Aston 
Pines, so now his mental conflict was equally unavailing 
to dispel the consciousness that he loved Christine and 
that he would marry her if he was a free man. However, 
he was not going to marry her, he was not going back 
to Aston Pines, and he was not going to see her again. 
He was going to tea with Billy. 

It was several months since he and Billy had seen 
each other ; he knew that she would be unchanged, but 
what about himself ? A considerable change had 
taken place in himself, a change which operated as a 
dark curtain and seemed to intervene between all that 
had occurred before the time when he had met Christine 
and since. It made him feel almost a stranger when 
he rang the bell of Billy’s house — it had been arranged 
that she was to stay on at Queen’s Gate until the decree 
was made absolute. He hoped that she would be 
conscious of no alteration in him, no cooling of his 
affection for her. He determined to spare no effort 
to prevent that. 

Consequently he overdid it. He kissed Billy with 
an effusiveness which was not natural to him. He 
didn’t often kiss her, for their relations with each other 
were usually undemonstrative. There is all the 
difference in the world between the kiss which is 
inspired by passion and the kiss which is intended to 
convey that effect — the one is the effervescence of 
good wine, the other merely effervescence. Billy ex- 
perienced an undefined dissatisfaction at Langton’s 
embrace ; there seemed to be something left out — the 
natural result of there being too much put in. She 

z 


BII,LY 


338 


[chap. XXX 


went to the tea table, and officiated with the 
teapot. 

“ Two lumps, I suppose ? ” she said ; “ unless 
you’ve altered in your habits since you’ve been at 
Aston Pines.” 

There was a spice of malice in her remark which 
did not escape Tangton’s notice. He endeavoured to 
direct the conversation towards herself. 

“ And what have you been doing with yourself all 
this time ? ” he asked. 

” Well,” she replied, “ for the last week I’ve been 
golfing at Aston Pines.” 

Langton nearly dropped his cup with surprise. 
Then it appeared to him that Billy was laughing at 
him. He looked at her suspiciously, but she was 
unconcernedly going on with her tea. 

“ Nice course, isn’t it ? ” she remarked presently. 

“ Ye — es,” he stammered. 

“ Did my game a lot of good,” she continued, “ but 
the grass was rather long. Did you lose many balls ? ” 

“ Not very many,” he answered, ” I — I didn’t play 
very often.” 

“ Sketching, I suppose ? ” queried Billy. “ Have 
some more tea ? ” 

“ Thanks. Yes, I did a lot of sketching and — and 
motoring, and things of that sort.” 

He gulped down his second cup of tea. Billy had 
purposely left out the sugar to see if he would notice 
it. He didn’t. 

“ Any one interesting stopping at the hotel ? ” 
she inquired. 

Dangton made a special effort to appear natural. 

” No,” he said, “ no one particularly interesting.” 


CHAP. XXX] 




339 


“ I wonder you don’t choke,” said Billy. 

I/angton was thoroughly startled, for Billy’s voice 
had changed and her eyes sparkled. He tried to 
assume his most innocent expression. 

“ I don’t know ” he began. 

“ Oh yes, you do,” she interrrupted, “ so it’s no use 
your sitting there trying to look like a stained glass 
mediaeval saint. There’s no halo anywhere about you, 
but I’m not sure that there isn’t a tail.” 

Tangton laughed with obvious embarrassment. 

“ Further particulars please, as the lawyers say,” 
he said. 

“ Christine ! ” replied Billy. “ Shall I spell it for 
you ? Christine ! ” She repeated the name with added 
emphasis. 

“Oh lor ! ” said Tangton ; “ has she been talking 
to you about me ? ” 

“ No,” replied Billy, “ she hasn’t. If she had, I 
shouldn’t have thought anything of it. She’s merely 
crying her eyes out because she’s fallen in love with a 
heartless flirt. Yes, that’s what you are, Frank,” 
she continued indignantly ; “ a heartless flirt ! ” 

“ Oh, draw it mild, Billy,” began Tangton, and then 
the remnants of his composure left him, for Billy’s 
words had made him very uneasy about Christine. 

“ She’s — not ill, is she ? ” he asked with sincere 
anxiety in his voice. 

Billy relented when she saw the look of genuine 
distress on Fangton’s face. 

“ She’s not ill,” she said, “ and I suppose she’ll 
get over it, but there’s no doubt that she’s fallen deeply 
in love with you, and that she thought you were in love 
with her. Oh, I don’t suppose you meant any harm. 


340 


BILLY 


[chap. XXX 


Frank, but it was thoughtless of you and — and Chris- 
tine’s a darling. You oughtn’t to have flirted with 
her — you see, she’s so simple, she took you seriously.” 

Langton’s head was swimming. He certainly hadn’t 
expected to And Billy taking up the cudgels on behalf 
of Christine. He would not have been surprised to 
discover a little jealousy on her part. But here was 
no jealousy ; Billy was the active ally of the girl who had 
fallen in love with him, and sympathized with her for 
doing so. It had never entered her head that he might 
have fallen in love with Christine. He felt that he had 
better take his leave before Billy thought of cross- 
examining him upon the state of his own feelings. He 
had no occasion to fear, however, for it never occurred 
to her to do so. She turned the conversation into 
another channel by giving him a full account of her 
own doings. 

“ Winnie’s written me such a sweet letter from 
Alberta,” she told him. “ She's getting on top hole, 
she’s got a baby, and she’s learnt how to ride a horse. 
Why, I could never induce her to go in a hansom 
because she always thought the horse would run away. 
She wants me to go out there and make my home with 
her and Sam. She seems to think I’m a poor lone 
thing, for she doesn’t mention you.” 

“ Perhaps,” said Langton, “ she thinks they hang 
unsuccessful co-respondents.” 

“ I shouldn’t be surprised,” replied Billy ; “ they 
very likely do over there.” 

The time slipped away pleasantly enough now that 
they had got away from the dangerous subject of 
Christine. Indeed, Langton found that he was enjoy- 
ing himself extremely in Billy’s society. He had an 


BILLY 


CHAP. XXX] 


341 


uneasy feeling that under the circumstances he ought 
not to be doing so. 

" The decree will be made absolute in a week or 
two’s time,” he said, as he rose to go, “ and then we 
must think of getting married. A registrar’s office, 
I suppose, will be the best, and the sooner the better, 
eh ? ” 

“Just as you like, Frank,” she said, “I leave all 
that to you. We shan’t need to hire any one to watch 
the wedding presents ! ” 

There was a bitter note in her chaffing remark. 
Langton turned to her, and the old tenderness was in 
his voice. 

“ Never mind, old girl,” he said, “ of course our 
marriage will be a hole and corner affair, but we’ve 
got many years in which to forget the trouble that led 
up to it.” 

“ Yes,” she replied softly, “ all our lives.” 

Langton’s uneasiness returned with redoubled force 
after he had left Billy and he was free to occupy his 
thoughts with what she had told him about Christine. 
He had been telling himself ever since he left Aston 
Pines that though he was suffering from the absence 
of Christine, she would not be suffering from that of 
himself. Now that illusion was dispelled. She was 
suffering. Oh, it was hard ; he wanted her and she 
wanted him. What was most hard to bear was the 
thought that she must believe that he had been 
playing with her, that, in the words of Billy, he was 
“ a heartless flirt ” ; he was not a heartless flirt, 
he wanted to go to her, to take her frail little form 
in his arms and tell her that he loved her, that he 
wanted to marry her, and that only a sense of duty 


342 


BILLY 


[chap. XXX 


prevented his doing so. But he couldn’t. His excuse 
was his crime. What right had he as an engaged man 
to let his affections and those of Christine become 
entangled ? It was a question he had asked himself 
scores of times, and the answer was always the same — 
no right, but he couldn’t help it. 

He went to the theatre that night with a view to 
distracting his thoughts, but it was only a temporary 
relief, and he dreamt about Christine and Billy all 
night. His dream took the irritating turn that dreams 
do, Billy was urging him to marry Christine, and 
Christine was urging him to marry Billy. Finally, in 
order to escape the importunities of both, he jumped 
into a hansom and drove off in it through the wilds of 
Alberta. Then the horse bolted and tried to jump 
over a precipice, and he woke up just in time to save 
himself from falling out of bed. After which he went 
to sleep again and had a variation of the same dream 
in which he tried to marry both Christine and Billy, but 
neither would have him. Taking it all round, he passed 
an uncomfortable night. 

He went into his studio the next day still worry- 
ing about Christine. It was a beautiful May morning, 
and the spring sunshine entered through the studio 
windows in a glorious flood of light. But to Langton 
it brought no comfort. He was thinking of Christine — 
“ crying her eyes out,” Billy had said. He pulled his 
easel into the middle of the room. On it was a newly 
painted canvas. It was an almost completed portrait 
of — Christine. He had painted it partly from memory, 
partly with the assistance of the photographs and 
sketches which he had brought back from Aston Pines. 
He had occupied himself in this way ever since his return. 


BIIylvY 


343 


CHAP. XXX] 

It had given him something to do, it had prevented him 
feeling so utterly adrift from the girl he loved, for it 
was a link between him and her. In fact, he felt that 
he would not have been able to keep away from her 
had he not thought of this expedient for retaining her 
presence before his eyes. Bangton was not a great 
painter, but this was a labour of love and it had 
inspired him. He had caught Christine’s expression 
at her best, the childish, deep blue eyes, the laughing 
lips, the entrancing little dimple which coquetted 
between her cheek and her chin. But to-day he 
regarded it gloomily. This was not his Christine. 
This was a laughing, merry maid without a care in 
the world ; his Christine was a weeping, sad little girl 
full of trouble. Well, he would keep her as he last saw 
her, thus with her sunshine and her smile. 

He took up his palette, there were still a few finishing 
touches to put in. But he couldn’t get them right. 
As fast as he painted in, he had to paint out. At last 
he desisted. He was afraid of spoiling what he had 
done. He put on his hat and went out for a walk — 
his invariable remedy when he wanted to paint and 
couldn’t — perhaps the air would clear his brain and 
steady his hand. The picture seemed to smile at him 
as he left the room, but it was a smile that bit into 
his soul. 

He hadn’t the slightest idea of what he was going 
to do with the picture when it was finished. He might, 
of course, send it to Christine, but he couldn’t bear the 
idea of parting with it. He might keep it, but it would 
then only be a perpetual reminder of the girl he couldn’t 
marry. However, he had been irresistibly impelled to 
paint it, and the pleasure he had taken in the task was 


344 


BILI.Y 


[chap. XXX 


a sufficient justification, even if he never saw it again 
after it was done. He had a hazy idea of keeping it 
for ever locked up and just looking at it occasionally. 
There would be pain in that, but there would be pleasure 
too. 

So Tangton went out for a walk. 

And whilst he was away Billy called at the studio. 

“ Out, is he ? ” she said ; “ all right, I’ll sit down 
and wait till he comes back.” 

She walked into the sunlit studio and the portrait 
of Christine smiled at her. She didn’t grasp the full 
significance of it at once. Her first impression was 
simply one of admiration. 

“ Oh, you darling ! ” she exclaimed ; " I didn’t know 
he could do it.” 

The little album of photographs caught her eye. 
She glanced at it carelessly. There were a lot of them — 
Christine on a bicycle, Christine trying to putt, Christine 
trying to do nothing but simply looking pretty. 
Christine, Christine, Christine, nothing but Christine. 

Billy’s hand shook a little. A little shiver ran 
through her. She felt cold. She didn’t understand 
why there should be so many photographs of Christine. 
A sketch book lying on the floor attracted her attention. 
Why, that was a sketch of Christine, too. She picked 
up the book. It was full of sketches, and they were 
all Christine. 

Then she looked at the picture again. Why had 
Bangton painted it ? That was carrying a flirtation 
rather far. Her breath came quickly. How — she 
hardly dared ask herself the question — how was it that 
he had painted it so well ? She steadied her nerves 
with an effort and scrutinized the painting more 


BIIvIvY 


CHAP. XXX] 


345 


critically. Yes, this was no ordinary portrait, no 
mechanical production. It was inspired. 

By what ? 

Billy sat down and a sob came into her throat. 
She understood. 

It was an hour later that Langton returned. Billy 
was still sitting in the chair. She hadn’t moved. 

“ Hullo ” he began when he saw her, and then 

he stopped. There was something in her face that he 
didn’t understand. 

“ You love her,” said Billy. Her voice sounded 
hard, unlike her own. 

“ My dear girl ! ” 

“You love her. Oh, I don’t blame you, Frank, 
but you love her.” 

“No,” he said; “no, no, you mustn’t say that, Billy.” 

“ But it’s true. Isn’t it true, Frank ? ” 

She got up from her seat. There was no hardness 
in her voice now, but a note of yearning. Oh, if it 
were not true ! 

Langton went up to her and took her in his arms. 

“ I love you, Billy,” he said, “ and I’m going to 
marry you. Do you think that I should be going to 
marry you if I didn’t love you ? ” 

“ No,” she replied, “ I believe you do love me, but 
not as you love her. Tell me the truth, Frank, even 
if it hurts.” 

“ I love you,” he answered almost sullenly, “ I 
shall always love you and I want you to be my wife.” 

Billy moved away from him. The hour whieh she 
had spent alone with the picture had not left her brain 
idle. It had been wracked with torturing thoughts. 
It had caused her to come to a decision. But she found 


BIIylyY 


346 


[chap. XXX 


her resolution wavering now that the time had come 
to announce it. She walked to the window and gazed 
out into the little courtyard upon which the studio 
looked. A tree stood in the centre of it, and the sun 
gleamed upon the new-born leaves. Some sparrows 
were hopping about the courtyard industriously seeking 
food. Billy took in all these details with the acute 
perception of her surcharged brain. Then she turned 
to Langton. 

“ I can’t marry you, Frank,” she said ; “ no, don’t 
interrupt; it isn’t that I don’t love you ; it isn’t that I 
think you don’t love me, but I am not the woman who 
ought to be your wife.” 

She pointed to the picture. 

“ That is the woman,” she said, “ poor little heart- 
broken Christine, who thinks that you have deserted 
her. Poor old Frank, I know how you feel about it, 
I understand how you’re now trying to play the game 
to me. But it can’t be, it isn’t fair, because you aren’t 
playing the game to her. You couldn’t help it, I 
couldn’t help it — we’re ” — her voice broke — “ we’re 
badly bunkered, but it’s all part of the game, and — 
and — we must make the best of it.” 

She couldn’t help it, the tears would come. She 
threw herself on to the couch in a paroxysm of weeping. 
She knew that she was doing the right thing, that she 
had been involuntarily blocking the path which Nature 
summoned Tangton and Christine to tread, that their 
true happiness depended upon her standing aside, that 
it was her duty to get off the road. But it was terribly 
hard to do the right thing, especially for her who had 
never bothered about doing it. She was giving up the 
man she loved. Why ? Because she loved him. 


BILI^Y 


347 


CHAP, XXX] 

Langton approached the couch and bent over her 
swaying form, his heart bleeding for her. He had 
never seen Billy cry. No one to his knowledge had 
ever done so — Billy was not the sort to display emotion. 

“ My poor darling ! ” he said ; “ don’t — don’t say 
these things. I’m — I’m going to marry you — I want 
to marry you.” 

He sat down beside her and tried to comfort her. 
Presently Billy recovered herself. 

“It’s all rightnow,” she said, trying to smile, “we’ve 
got to make the best of a bad job. Dear old Frank ! 
We’ve been the best of pals, haven’t we ? And always 
shall be, shan’t we ? ” 

Dangton got up and paced the room. Emotion 
was rapidly overpowering him. 

“ Oh, Billy ! Billy ! ” was all that he could say. 

She rose from her seat. 

“ I’m going now, Frank,” she said ; “ don’t let’s 
talk about this any more ” 

He seized her in his arms almost roughly. 

“ I can’t let you go like this,” he protested, “ I 
can’t, I can’t.” 

“You must, dear,” she replied gently. “ If I can 
stand it, you can.” 

Without giving him the opportunity of answering 
her, she broke from his arms, and half-crying, slipped 
out of the room. She stumbled rather than walked 
down Kensington High Street. She had no direct 
objective in her mind, but her footsteps led her into 
Kensington Gardens. It was thronged with people 
revelling in the soft spring air. Out-of-works sprawled 
on the grass gazing skywards, nursemaids pushed 
perambulators, read novelettes, and minded their 


348 


BIIvLY 


[chap. XXX 

infant charges as the mood took them, the Round Pond 
glittered in the sunshine and diminutive yachts danced 
on its tiny waves whilst their diminutive owners 
watched their uncertain course with anxious eyes. 

Billy sat down on a chair. She was feeling faint. 
A lot of things seemed to have happened in a very 
short time. She tried to sort them out as they careered 
through her brain. A feeling of hopelessness, friend- 
lessness oppressed her. She felt so utterly alone. 
So this was the end. She would presumably end her 
life rounding up horses in Alberta. She had always 
looked down upon Winnie with sisterly superiority. 

But Winnie was a successfully married woman, she ! 

“ I have made a muck of my life ! ” she murmured. 
A shadow fell across the path. She looked up. It 
was the man with the chair tickets. 

“ One penny, please,” he said. 


CHAPTER XXXI 


Bii,i,y was sitting at the writing-table in her boudoir. 
She read over the answer she was sending to Winnie’s 
letter. “ You’re an awful dear,” she had written, 
“ and I’ll come out by the next boat.” She fastened 
up the envelope with a sigh of relief. That settled 
matters. There could be no turning back now. She 
had been impelled to her present somewhat hurried 
action by the importunities of Eangton. He had 
by no means taken her decision as final, and had done all 
that argument and persuasion could effect to alter it. 
But Billy was not to be moved from the course she had 
taken. She appreciated the motives which actuated 
Eangton in trying to force her to marry him, respected 
him for them, loved him for them, but she didn’t waver 
in the least from her determination. 

Eangton was not the only one whom she had to 
combat in the matter. There was also Jim. He had 
called to see her the day after her scene with Eangton 
in the studio, and she had told him everything. 

Jim listened to her story, admiring and sympathetic, 
but he did not at all approve of her programme. 

“ You ought to marry Eangton,” he said ; “ he 
wants to marry you, and what better wife could a man 
want ? ” 

“ Ask Jerry,” Billy had replied with a slight return 
to her former cheerfulness. “No, Jim,” she said, 
349 


350 


BILLY 


[chap. XXXI 

“ it’s up to me to clear out ; it’s a case of odd man out, 
and that’s me,” she concluded ungrammatically. 

Jim saw that she was not to be moved from her 
purpose. Then the light of a sudden inspiration came 
into his eyes. 

“ Is there a chance for — any one else ? ” he asked. 

Billy saw what he was going to say, but she stopped 
him. She went up to him and kissed him full and 
square on the lips — she had never kissed Jim before. 

“ Dear old brother,” she said affectionately ; “ no.” 

And Jim didn’t press her. He loved her with all 
the strength of his nature, would have given up all his 
prospects, everything for her, but he knew and had 
known for a long time that she didn’t care for him like 
that. To her he was a brother, a dear brother, but 
nothing more ; well, so be it. 

“ I’ll come and see you off when you go,” he said 
cheerfully, “ and you must write, you know. Also, 
come back — some day.” 

“ I don’t think I shall ever come back,” said Billy ; 
“ this is where I retire from the stage and take to 
cattle-raising.” 

She maintained her cheerful tone until he took his 
leave, but she was sore in her heart. Jim’s intercepted 
proposal had touched her deeply ; moreover, she was 
more fond of him than he knew. If only things had 
been different ! As it was, he had his career to think 
of, or, at any rate, for her to think of. He had a 
future in front of him which would certainly be dis- 
tinguished if not brilliant. She wasn’t going to spoil 
that. She had wrecked her own life and possibly 
Jerry’s ; that was enough. 

And so she had written to Winnie and accepted her 


CHAP. XXXl] 


EILLY 


351 


offer. Perhaps she could begin life again far away 
where nobody knew her. The prospect, however, 
did not appeal to her ; the complete loneliness of it 
almost frightened her. It is true that she would have 
her sister ; but her sister would have her husband, her 
baby and her home, whereas she would have none of 
those things. It was to be her home too ? No, it 
was to be her refuge. 

It was a new life upon which she was entering and 
an uncongenial one. The little domestic details that 
would occupy Winnie’s mind and fill her with content 
would merely serve to irritate Billy. She could ride 
horses till she was tired ? Yes, she probably would ride 
them until she was very tired indeed. 

Billy was moved to sudden compunction by her 
thoughts. Surely she was very ungrateful, there might 
have been no helping hand held out to her in her trouble. 
Yes, that was true. She had a lot to be thankful for. 
It wasn’t every one who would care to harbour a 
divorced woman with her guilt still fresh upon her. 

Billy flushed with sudden shame. She hadn’t 
quite realized the position before. Conscious of her 
own innocence, it was difficult for her to appreciate 
the consciousness of every one else of her guilt. Winnie 
was offering her an asylum ; it was noble of her, but 
dreadful for Billy to accept. She took up her letter 
with the sudden inclination to tear it up. She wouldn’t 
go at all. Yes, she would, but she would write a fresh 
letter and explain that she was not so bad as people 
thought. She picked up her pen, but dropped it again. 
The explanation was as bad as the misconception. 
Perhaps worse. Besides, she mightn’t be believed ? 
Surely her own sister would believe her. Sam wouldn’t. 


352 


BIIvIvY 


[chap. XXXI 


and Sam was Winnie’s god. Perhaps she had better 
let it go ; she could always explain later. Procrastina- 
tion again ! 

Her reflections were cut short by the entry of the 
maid. 

“ If you please, ma’am,” she said, “ Mr. Aynesworth 
has called and would very much like to see you.” 

“ Mr. Aynesworth ! ” echoed Billy. What on earth 
could J erry want with her ? Perhaps it was something 
about the house, for her occupation of it was to cease 
when the decree was made absolute. Well, that was 
a matter for their solicitors. She wasn’t feeling up 
to seeing any one just then. 

“ Say that I’m not at home,” she said to the maid. 

“ I did say that I thought you didn’t want to be 
disturbed, ma’am, but Mr. Aynesworth said that it 
was most important that he should see you. He’s in 
the drawing-room.” 

“ In the drawing-room ? ” said Billy ; “ you ought 
to have spoken to me first.” 

“ I couldn’t prevent it, ma’am,” said the maid ; 
“ he insisted on coming in.” 

Billy smiled faintly. The inability of any one 
to prevent Jerry doing anything seemed highly 
improbable. 

“ All right,” she said, “ you can go. I’ll come down 
presently.” 

She felt strangely nervous as she went down the 
stairs a few minutes later. She hadn’t seen Jerry since 
the trial. Then he had not appeared to advantage. 
Now the boot seemed to be on the other foot. Billy’s 
instinct of liking to look her best was still strong in her. 

Jerry was sitting on the extreme edge of one of the 


CHAP. XXXI] 


BII.LY 


353 


drawing-room chairs. He got up as she entered the 
room. He was obviously nervous. They stood and 
looked at each other awkwardly for a few moments — 
she tall, handsome, and pale ; he as insignificant as 
ever, and red with embarrassment. 

Billy recovered herself first. 

“ Well ? ” she said. 

Jerry cleared his throat ; he was very agitated. 

“ I want you to come back,” he said hoarsely. 

“ You — want — me — to — come back ? ” repeated 
Billy, her voice jerky with amazement. “ I don’t 
understand.” 

“ To-morrow,” said Jerry, “ the decree will be made 
absolute. I don’t want it made absolute. I want you 
to come back.” 

His voice sounded as if he were repeating something 
that he had learnt by heart. He probably was. 

“ Why ? ” asked Billy. She leant against a chair 
to steady herself ; her brain hadn’t yet fully grasped 
Jerry’s request. Jerry began to walk about the room 
in his old marionette way, talking in little gasps as he 
did so. 

“ Because I love you,” he said ; “ yes, I do, Billy, 
awfully — awfully — I’ve been utterly miserable over this 
wretched business — I never wanted to go into court — 
they made me — Blanche and — and Mrs. D’Arcy — damn 
them ! — but I wanted you all the time — at one time 
I thought I didn’t — and then, when they proved all 
those things about you, I was sure I didn’t — but I did 
— I did — and — and — I do ! ” 

Jerry sat down, limp with his effort. Billy was 
about to speak, but he hadn’t quite done yet. 

“ I know you don’t love me,” he said ; “ but I 

2 A 


354 


BILLY 


[chap. XXXI 

can’t help that, I — I love you. Oh, I know I made a 
nuisance of myself before — bored you to death by 
always hanging on to you — and all that kind of thing — 
but I’ve learnt my lesson — I won’t worry you if you 
come back. I want you, Billy, I really do.” 

His voice trembled with emotion. The little man 
was in deadly earnest. To a third party he might have 
appeared ridiculous, for his tie was awry and he was 
nervously fidgeting with his gloves. But to Billy 
he was not ridiculous. His genuine passion touched 
her ; she felt ashamed ; there was a nobility in this 
little husband of hers that had never before been 
revealed. How could she have ever thought him 
ridiculous ? She felt herself trembling. She wanted 
to cry — she who despised tears ! Well, of late she 
had had occasion for them. She restrained herself 
with an inward struggle, forced herself to speak calmly. 

“ Jerry,” she said, “ do you understand what you’re 
saying ? Do you realize what I am ? Those things 
which they said about me in court — do you believe 
them ? ” 

“ We’ll forget all that,” said Jerry, “ if you’ll 
come back.” 

“ Yes,” she persisted, “ but do you believe them ? ” 

Jerry fidgeted uneasily. 

“ Don’t let’s talk about that,” he said. 

“ But I want to know,” she continued. 

“ Of course I know all that’s true,” said Jerry, 
“ but still ” 

“You want me to come back ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

Something seemed to rise up in Billy’s throat and 
choke her, her eyes swam, tears stood in them and 


CHAP, XXXl] 


BII.LY 


355 


would not be driven back. This, then, was the love 
she had despised, the love which demanded no return, 
nay, which accepted betrayal and forgave it. At that 
moment Jerry was noble in her eyes, grand, greater 
than any man she had ever known. She felt she 
couldn’t face him. She walked to the other end of the 
room, silent and ashamed. When she had recovered 
herself, she turned to him again. 

“ It was all false,” she said, speaking hurriedly, 
“ all, all. I was never anything to Frank except a 
friend, and never have been ; I wanted to marry him 
and he wanted to marry me, so I threw up the case. 
We are still only friends, and shall always be only 
friends, for he is going to marry some one else. Oh, 
it was my own doing,” she continued, “ he has been 
pressing me to marry him, but I know that he loves 
some one better than he loves me, and that she loves 
him,” 

Billy had been too engrossed with her own recital 
to notice at first the effect which it had on her husband. 
When she did so she saw that he had buried his face 
in his hands. He seemed completely overcome with 
emotion. 

“ Oh, Billy,” he said chokingly, " if you knew 
what I’ve gone through you wouldn’t have had the 
heart to do it, I couldn’t believe that you had done 
what they said you did, and then, when you withdrew 
your defence ” 

“ I know,” she interrupted brokenly, “ I’m heartily 
ashamed of myself.” 

She sat down on the sofa. She was feeling very 
humble at that moment. 

Jerry got up and came to her. 


356 BII/IyY [chap. XXXI 

“ Billy, dear," he said, “ can’t we begin all over 
again ? ” 

“ You still want me to come back ? ” she queried. 

“ Of course I do, more than ever, no, not more than 
ever, for that would be impossible. I want you, Billy, 
you, you. Things shall be just as you like, just as 
before.” 

“ No,” she said. 

He drew back repelled. 

“ Then you won’t ? ” he began. 

She rose from her seat and went to him. 

“Yes, I will,” she answered, “ but not as before.” 

She drew him to her and kissed him. 

“ I’m going to be your wife,” she said softly. 


THE END 


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“A work of genius.” — Chicago Evening Post. 

All Things Considered 

Cloth. 12mo. $1.50 net. Postage 12 cents 

“ Full of the author’s abundant vitality, wit and unflinching opti* 
mism.” — Book News. 


George Bernard Shaw. A Biography 

Cloth. 12mo. $1.50 net. Postage 12 cents 

“It is a facinating portrait study and I am proud to have been the 
painter’s model.” — George Bernard Shaw in The Nation (London). 

The Napoleon of Netting Hill. A Romance. With 
Illustrations by Graham Robertson 

Cloth. 12mo. $1.50 

“ A brilliant piece of satire, gemmed with ingenious paradox. 
Every page is pregnant with vitality.” — Boston Herald. 


The Ball and the Cross Cloth. 12mo. $1.50 

“The most strikingly original novel of the present season. It is 
studded with intellectual brilliants. Its satire is keener than that of 
Bernard Shaw. Behind all this foolery there shines the light of 
Truth. A brilliant piece of satire — a gem that sparkles from any 
point of view the reader may choose to regard it. ’ * 

— San Francisco Bulletin. 


EDEN PHILLPOTTS 


The Thief of Virtue Cloth, 12mo, $1,50 

“If living characters, perfect plot construction, imaginative breadth 
of canvas and absolute truth to life are the primaiy qualities of great 
realistic fiction, Mr. Phillpotts is one of the greatest novelists of the 
day. . . . He goes on turning out one brilliant novel after 

another, steadily accomplishing for Devon what Mr. Hardy did for 
Wessex. This is another of Mr. Phillpotts’ Dartmoor novels, and 
one that will rank with his best. . . Something of kinship with 

‘King Lear’ and ‘ Pere Goriot.’ ” Chicago Record Herald. 

“The Balzac of Dartmore. It is easy and true to say that Mr. 
Phillpotts in all his work has done no single piece of portraiture 
better than this presentation of Philip Ouldsbroom. . . A triumph 
of the novelist’s understanding and keen drawing. . . A Dart- 
moor background described in terms of an artist’s deeply felt 
appreciation. — Ne^ York World, 

“No other English writer has painted such facinating and colorful 
word-pictures of Dartmoor’s heaths and hills, woods and vales, and 
billowy plains of pallid yellow and dim green. Few others have 
attempted such vivid character-portrayal as marks this latest work 
from begiiming to end.” The North American. 

“A strong book, flashing here and there with beautiful gems of 
poetry. . . Providing endless food for thought. . . An in- 
tellectual treat. ’ ’ — London Evening Standard, 

The Haven cloth. i2mo. $i.50 

“The foremost English novelist with the one exception of Thomas 
Hardy. . . His descriptions of the sea and his characterization 

of the fisher folks are picturesqne, true to life, full of humorous 
philosophy.” — JeannetieL. Gilder in The Chicago Tribune. 

“It is no dry bones of a chronicle, but touched by genius to life 
and vividness. ” — Louis^vilky Kentucky ^ Post. 

“A close, thoughtful study of universal human nature.” 

— The Outlook. 

“ One of the best of this author’s many works.” — The Bookman, 


MAUD DIVER 

A TRILOGY OF ANGLO-INDIAN 
ARMY LIFE 

New York T^tnes: “Above the multitude of novels (erotic and 
neurotic) hers shine like stars. She has produced a comprehensive 
and full drama of life, rich in humanity; noble, satisfying — it is not too 
much to say great. ** 

(New Editions) 

CANDLES IN THE WIND 
CAPTAIN DESMOND, V. C. 

THE GREAT AMULET 
Cloth, j2mo. $/.Jo each 

The Argonaut {San Franciscoi): “We doubt if any other writer 
gives us so composite and convincing a picture of that curious mixture 
of soldier and civilian that makes up Indian society. She shows us the 
life of the country from many standpoints, giving us the idea of a store- 
house of experience so well stocked that incidents can be selected with 
a fastidious and dainty care,** 

London Morning Post: “ Vigor of characterization accompanied by 
an admirable terseness and simplicity of expression.** 

Literary World: “Undoubtedly some of the finest novels that 
Indian life has produced.** 

London Telegraph: “ Some sincere pictures of Indian life which are 
as real and convincing as any which have entered into the pages of 
fiction.** 

The Chicago Tribune: “ The characterization is excellent and her 
presentation of frontier life and of social conditions produces a strong 
impression of truth.** 

Boston Evening Transcript: “ Knows absolutely the life that she 
depicts. Her characters are excellently portrayed.** 

Chicago Record Herald: “ Well told; the humanization good and 
the Indian atmosphere, always dramatic, is effectively depicted. Holds 
the attention without a break.** 

Toronto Mail: “Real imagination, force, and power. Rudjrard 
Kipling and imitators have shown us the sordid side of this social life. 
It remains for Mrs. Diver to depict tender-hearted men and brave, true 
women. Her work is illuminated by flashes of spiritual insight that 
one longs to hold in memory.’* 


CHARLES MARRIOTT 


The Intruding Angel cloth. l2mo. $1.50. 

The story of a mistaken marriage, and the final solution of the 
problem for the happiness of all parties concerned. 

When a Woman Woos cloth. i2mo. $1.50. 

“Unique. The book is on the whole a study of the relations of 
men and women in the particular institution of marriage. It is 
an attempt to define what a real marriage is, and it shows very 
decidedly what it is not. Full of the material of life. ** 

— York Times Book Re^ienv, 


A Spanish Holiday 

Illustrated, Cloth, 8‘vo. $2,50 net. Postage 20 cents. 

“The spirit of Spain has been caught to a very great degree by the 
author of this book, and held fast between its covers. ” 

— Book Newos, 


NETTA SYRETT 

Olivia L. Carew cloth. l2mo. $1.50 

An interesting character study of a passionless, self-absorbed woman 
humanized by the influence of a man’s love and loyal devotion, 

Anne Page, a Love-story of To-day Cloth, 12mo. $1.,50 

“Readers must judge for themselves. Women may read it for 
warning as well as entertainment, and they will find both. Men 
may read it for reproach that any of their kind can treat such women 
so. And moralists of either sex will find instructions for their 
homilies, as well as a warning that there may be more than one 
straight and narrow way.” — Nenju York Times. 

Six Fairy Plays for Children 

Sq, 12mo, $1.00 net. Postage 8 cents. 


A. NEIL LYONS 


ROBERT BLATCHFORD 

Cloth, 12mo, 75 cents net. Postage 10 cts. 

The Sketch of a Personality. 

An Estimate of Some Achievement. 

splendid figure for biographical study. ** — The Call, 

Cottage Pie cloth. i2mo. $1.50. 

A Country Spread. A Novel. 

Sixpenny Pieces cloth. i2mo. $i.50. 

The Story of a Sixpenny Doctor 

“Not since famous ‘ No. 5 John Street ’ has been offered so tell- 
ing and characteristic a work. Power to stir human hearts and 
sway human sympathies. Holds the interest with a grip of iron and 
will make many think.” — Chicago Record Herald. 

Unique in style and matter and intense in human interest.” — 
Louisville Courier Journal. 

Notable, pathetic, humorous and tragic. In realistic force and 
convincing truth of characterization it is a striking achievement. 
Slum life has never been better portrayed.” — Brooklyn Eagle. 

Arthur’s Hotel cloth. J2mo. $i.50. 

Sketches of low life in London. The book will delight visitors 
to the slums.” — Nevo York Sun, 


M. R WILLCOCKS 


The Way Up Cloth. 12mo, $1.50 

The Romance of an Ironmaster Touching Three Vital Questions 

(a) Capital and Labor. 

(b) The Claims of the IndMdual Against Those of the State. 

( c) The Right of a Woman to Her O^n Individuality. 

“ M. P* Willcocks is an English writer of unusual force and that 
dry, incisive humor dearly beloved of the intellectual reader. In 
‘The Way Up’ this writer crystallizes a tense and telling problem. 
The book is earnest enough for the most serious of readers, yet 
never dull or dreary. The humanization is admirable.” — Chicago 
Record-Herald. 

“ Miss Willcocks shows the wit of Barrie in close alliance with the 
bold realism of Thomas Hardy and the philosophic touches of 
George Meredith. ” — Literary Worlds London. 

“Striking studies of character and grace of charm and style.” — 
Nevj York Sun. 

“Such books are worth keeping on the shelves, even by the classics, 
for they are painted in colors which do not fade.” — London Times. 

The Wingless Victory cloth. i2mo. $1.50 

“A most remarkable novel which places the author in the first rank. 
This is a novel built to last.” — The Outlook. 

‘ ‘ A book worth keeping on the shelves, even by the classics, for 
it is painted in colors which do not fade.” — The Times. 

“It is an excellent thing for any reader to come across this book. ’ ’ 
— Standard. 

“A splendid book.” — Tribune. 

A Man of Genius cloth. i2mo. $ 1.50 

“ Far above the general level of contemporary fiction, A work of 
unusual power.” — Professor William Lyon Phelps. 


Widdicombe 

A Romance of the Devonshire Moors 


Cloth. 12mo. $1.50 


MAUDE ANNESLEY 


The Wine of Life Cloth, 12mo, $1.50 

*‘The story is well worth reading; it is never dull and 
is positively superior in the distinctness of its character 
portraiture to the common run of drawing-room fiction.” 

— Charleston News and Courier 

The Door of Darkness Cloth, 12mo, $1.50 

** A story of great interest.” — Newark Evening News. 
‘‘Thoroughly absorbing. . . . A subtle psychological 
situation. ’ ’ — Providence Journal. 

Wind Along the Waste Cloth, 12mo, $1.50 

“There are some capitally drawn pictures of Parisian 
low life and its types, and a few thrilling adventures. 
The whole conception is so forcible that one can hardly 
get on fast enough.” — Pall Mall Gazette. 

Shadow-Shapes Cloth, 12mo, $1.30 net. Postage 12 cents 

“The theme of the story is that of hypnotic suggestion. 

. . , The absorbing drama grows in interest with every 
page, the sense of impending tragedy is always with us. 
It is well and cleverly done.” — Pall Mall Gazette. 


MY ENEMY— THE MOTOR 

BY 

JULIAN STREET 


Illustrated, Cloth. Idmo. 50 cents net. Postage 6 cents* 


‘ ‘ Will supply all normal readers, motor enthusiasts or 
otherwise, with cause for chuckling during a good half-hour.” 

— Chicago Record-Herald. 

‘ ‘ Mr. Street’ s style is lively and vivacious. ’ ’ 

— Boston Transcript. 

“In the manner of Jerome K. Jerome and may be 
heartily commended.” — New York Globe. 

“The humor of Julian Street first became known by 
the publication of the clever little story ‘ My Enemy — the 
Motor.’ ” — The Boston Herald. 

“More acceptable than the ordinary run of novels 
because it is more amusing, less pretentious and not so long. 
About as long as the ordinary novel might be if only novelists 
would omit superfluities. Just the right length.” 

— N* Y. Evening Sun. 


THE NEED OF CHANGE 


BY 

JULIAN STREET 

Illustrated, Cloth, 16mo, 50 cents net. Postage 6 cents, 

‘‘A sketch too good to miss. Deliciously humorous.” 

— Baltimore Sun, 

‘‘Delightful. Jovial and joyous as a fat man’s hearty 
laugh. ’ ’ — Chicago Record-Herald, 

“A brilliant story, sympathetically illustrated.” 

" — New York American, 

“Fortify yourself when you start the story. If you 
don’t, you may disturb the passengers by laughing right out 
loud.” — San Francisco Bulletin, 

“ Many laughs between the covers. The story is told 
with spirit and a constant sense of humor.” 

— New York Saturday Review of Books, 

“Now and again you have the extreme luck to run 
across a book that is really FUNNY. Not the machine- 
made, madly-advertised type. ‘The Need of Change’ is 
the kind that usually you pick up by accident, start to run 
through casually, find yourself ^startled into a chuckle by some 
unexpected humorous line, and end by reading every word 
with zest and hustling around to loan it to your friends. . . 
Keeps the reader in one continuous howl; the fun never 
becomes forced. A gem ! ’ ’ — Philadelphia Item, 


THE HICKORY LIMB 


BY 

PARKER H. FILLMORE 

Illustrated, Cloth. 16mo. 50 cents net. Postage 6 cents, 

“ ‘The Hickory Limb’ is a remarkable story, which I 
have enjoyed, appreciated, and admired. It displays a 
knowledge of human nature, tenderness and humor.” 

— Charles Battell Loomis. 

“A true and amusing picture of child life.” 

— Louisville Courier-Journal, 

“ The little heroine and all the children are capital.” 

— New York Sun. 

“A charming companion to popular ‘Alice in Wonder- 
land.’ ” — Chicago Record-Herald. 

“ One of the most relishable pieces of humor evolved 
in some time.” — Albany Argus. 

“We do not recall having seen any more striking 
evidence of the arrival of an age of social experimentation 
than little Margery’s rebellion.” — Chicago Evening Post. 

‘ ‘A dainty idyl, full of charm. Should prove a classic. ’ ’ 

— Cincinnati Enquirer. 

‘ ‘Powerful in its subtle analysis of childhood philosophy. ’ ’ 
— Rochester Union and Advertiser. 

“A most delightful story. . . . Let Mr. Fillmore go 
on writing other stories like ‘ The Hickory Limb.’ ” 

— Toronto News. 

“An hour of amusement, a series of laughs from the 
heart out, and a pleasant vista backward to the days of child- 
hood will come to the reader of ‘The Hickory Limb.’ ” 

— Cincinnati Tribune. 


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